The Road Home: Broken
by sosmitten
Summary: Post finale for 'Partings.' The second part of the 'Road Home' series.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If they were mine, I wouldn't have to write this story.

**Author's Note: **This is the second story in my post-finale series, _The Road Home_. The events in this story will build on the first story in the series, _Empty_. I owe my betas huge thanks for their help with this chapter. **KinoFille**, **iheartbridges**, **JeSouhaite**, and **Lula Bo** kept me on my toes and most importantly, kicked me in the pants when I got lazy with plot development and dialogue.

* * *

Luke stands, fixed in place, shocked by her insistence and her obvious pain. He keeps hearing her voice saying 'never.' He has a vague sense of the dull cacophony of music coming from the random people milling around in the town square, but what he's hearing more distinctly are her footsteps on the pavement as she walks away. He thinks he can hear the staccato sound of her heels even after she's turned the corner. Seconds, or possibly minutes later, he hears a car start and knows suddenly the cost of his indecision. He feels a sinking sensation in his gut, watching the scene replay in his mind.

He glances back at the diner, wondering dumbly how long he's been standing in the middle of the street. He can't go back in to the customers and the burgers. He can't go on with his night as if nothing has changed. Almost automatically he turns and walks to her house, though somehow he knows before he gets there that she won't be there.

Even knowing this he walks there, only to be greeted by the empty yard and driveway and the darkened windows of the house. He watches the house, as if he thinks something about the situation will change if he stands there long enough. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, his shoulders falling in defeat as he walks to the porch and drops himself down on the top step.

He's not sure why he continues to sit here. It seems clear that Lorelai will not return, at least not tonight. He wonders if she's with Rory or Sookie. Without debating it too much, he pulls out his phone and presses her number. Even as he listens to the phone dialing, he's not sure exactly what to say, just that he needs to try to talk to her.

When the phone drops him immediately to voicemail, he knows she's hiding from him. At the tone, he starts haltingly, "Lorelai, can we please…I know you don't want to talk, but…well, I guess…just please listen. I shouldn't have let you walk away like that. I know that. I know I've screwed up, but can't you let me make it up to you? Can't we try to fix this? Please call me." He can feel his voice starting to break, but he takes a breath and adds, "I love you," before hanging up. He can't help feeling that anything he says now is too little too late, that the time for an apology should have been while she was still standing in front of him, not after he'd let her walk away.

He drops the phone in his pocket, wondering just how long he's going to sit on her front porch, wishing somewhat hopelessly for her to come back so that they can start to fix whatever has gone wrong between them. He's not even sure he completely understands what has gone wrong.

He's starting to see that it's rooted in everything that's happened since he found out about April: his inability to tell Lorelai and his need to figure out where he stood with April.

Ever since he met April, he's felt a desperate desire for her to like him. It had been so long since he'd sought approval from anyone besides Lorelai, that the fierceness of that need had surprised him. In a strange way, pursuing a relationship with April had required the same kind of courage that he'd needed when he'd finally decided to ask Lorelai out, but the prospect of being April's dad brought a whole new level of terror as well. At least he'd known Lorelai for years and suspected that she might have feelings for him, but as far as he knew, to April, he was just the result of a science fair experiment. After seeing her website though, after seeing all that he'd missed out on, he knew that he wanted to prove that he could be a good father. That he wanted her to love him. He had twelve years to make up for, after all.

It isn't lost on him that April is about the age Rory was when he'd met the Gilmore girls. When Lorelai had first blown into the diner, she'd been a whirlwind of life and beauty, bound and determined to shake him up. That in itself would have won him over, but the thing that he'd admired most about her, the thing that made him fall so hard for her, was watching her with Rory, and seeing how much Rory adored her.

He didn't think that he could bear to see April looking at Lorelai like that when she still looked at him with skepticism. Sitting here now, thinking about it as objectively as he can, it feels like a selfish thought. But is it too much to ask to know that your daughter loves you before letting her fall in love with your fiancée? Because April would fall in love with Lorelai. He's never questioned that. Everyone loves Lorelai.

When they had spent time together at the party, he could see that he'd been right. Lorelai had such a natural way with kids, something he never thought he'd master. At the same time, she'd managed to let Luke take all the credit, even with the present. And she'd been happy – really, truly happy in a way that he hadn't seen in quite a while.

The thing that he doesn't understand, the thing that he just can't wrap his head around, is that if this is about April, if Lorelai is more upset about not meeting her than he's realized, then why did everything fall apart _after_ the party? He remembers Lorelai talking about Anna, about going to see Anna. He tries to remember what she said about talking to her, wondering if something Anna had said contributed to Lorelai's sudden need to elope.

Luke's thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of Paul Anka shuffling around inside the house. Reluctantly, he pulls himself up, his body stiff for having been still so long. He tries the door, unsure about using his key just now. When it's locked, he hesitates, starting to reach for his keys. Instead of pulling them out though, he walks around to the kitchen door, relieved in spite of himself to find it unlocked.

He pushes the door open without entering the house and watches Paul Anka pad slowly onto the porch and down into the yard. He stands as watches as the dog goes to his very particular spot and digs in his very particular way before he does his business and returns to the porch. As he passes, Paul Anka looks up, giving Luke an eerily questioning look. Luke just stares at him as the dog waddles off into the kitchen. Then he reaches for the door, locking it before pulling it shut.

After a few deep breaths, he walks around to the front steps and plops himself down again. He knows he should go home, that it's pointless to sit here, but he doesn't want to go back to his lonely apartment, especially now. He pulls out his phone again and dials automatically. This time, he expects the immediate prompt for a message and he's ready. "Lorelai, it's me again. I just wanted to let you know that I let out Paul Anka, because…well, I'm at your house…and you're not here. I heard him moving around so I let him out. I think I'm going to go now. Back to my place. So that's where I'll be. Please call me."

After hanging up, he sits for a few minutes, almost as if he expects an immediate response. He finally gets up grudgingly and heads home. It's not until he gets back that he realizes he left the diner without warning. He finds a note from Caesar telling him that he finished up the orders and closed up. Luke reminds himself to thank him in the morning.

He trudges upstairs, dreading the emptiness, regretting every single night he's spent here alone when he should have been with Lorelai. He puts his phone down on the nightstand, checking that it's on before setting it within arm's reach. Then he searches unsuccessfully for the t-shirt and boxers he usually wears to bed. They're nowhere to be found, so he sits down against the headboard fully dressed.

It doesn't matter. He's not going to sleep anyway.

* * *

He measures the next day by the phone calls he makes during the seemingly shorter-than-average lulls at the diner. Knowin Lorelai's schedule, he doesn't try to call her until mid-morning, and by then he's worked himself into an anger that's built on fear and worry, and he regrets the harshness of his first message as soon as he's spoken the words. Within minutes, he's called again to apologize and express his concern. 

By the time he's gotten through lunch he's called her house and cell again, this time pleading for her to call and asking her to forgive him for his idiocy. The first chance he gets, he heads over to the inn. On his way he calls and leaves a message explaining where he's gone, feeding the tiny hope that she might actually try to reach him.

At the inn, he glances around the reception area and the dining room and pokes his head into Lorelai's office before walking toward the kitchen.

Pushing the door open, he calls out, "Sookie?"

She looks up from the stove, clearly surprised. "Luke? What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Lorelai. Have you seen her?" He's trying to sound casual, but when he adds, "Have you talked to her?" his voice betrays him.

"What's going on, Luke?" Sookie asks, concerned.

"Do you know where she is? Have you talked to her? What did she tell you?"

Sookie sighs. "She called earlier to say that she's staying with Rory."

"Rory, okay…good." He pauses for a moment. "Where does she live?"

Sookie looks at him evenly. "She said she needed to get away."

"But I need to talk to her," he protests.

Her voice, when she speaks again, has an edge to it. "Look, Luke, I don't know what going on with you two, but she's been patient with you for a long time. If she needs a little time away, you should give it to her." Then her expression softens, and she asks gently, "Luke, what happened?"

"I don't know," he says, still struggling to put it all together in his own head. Sookie's looking at him skeptically though, so he admits sadly, "We had a fight."

"She'll come back," she insists. "Just give her a little time."

He almost protests, because he has a sinking feeling that she's being overly optimistic, but then he just shrugs and nods before turning to go.

He'd hoped for more answers, had thought that Sookie might be able to help him put the pieces together, but he's still at a loss. He wishes he could trace Lorelai's steps for the last few days, to know what it was that caused her to avoid him and to find out what had triggered her desperate outburst.

He remembers again Lorelai's mention of Anna, and for a brief moment he considers calling her to find out what she said to Lorelai, but he doesn't even know where to begin to navigate that dynamic. With Anna controlling his access to his daughter, he doesn't feel like he has choices where Anna is concerned. Now that he's been allowed to be a father, to fall in love with his daughter, he can't bear to lose her.

He returns to the diner and, four phone calls later, he's fed the last customer dinner and finished a token effort at cleaning the diner. As he stretches out on his bed in the hopes of getting some small amount of sleep, he can't resist one more attempt to reach her. This time his message is simple, "Please call me, Lorelai. I'm worried about you…I love you."

* * *

The next day is a repeat of the previous and Luke arranges to take off after lunch in search of her. But as customers filter in for lunch, he notices furtive looks and whispered comments from everyone in the diner. There's a barely perceptible shift in the way that people are looking at him. Instead of the curiosity and concern he noticed the day before, now he sees sadness and a little pity.

It's enough to make him finally do what he spent the previous day telling himself he shouldn't do; he goes to her house and lets himself in. He wonders at what point he went back to thinking about it as her house, when they'd spent the fall turning it into their house.

There's a stillness in the house. It has a vacant feel to it that he thinks he shouldn't be able to pick up on from just entering and standing in the foyer. But it's enough to tell him that she's not here, and that this time, she's taken Paul Anka with her.

Even knowing that, he has to walk through the whole house. He checks in all of Paul Anka's hiding spots, knocking on Rory's closed door and peeking in quickly.

When he gets to the bedroom he's not prepared for the loss that hits him. It kills him that he can't remember the last night he spent here in the refinished room when he spent every night in her bed in the living room during the renovations.

He knows before he opens her closet what he'll see: much of her summer wardrobe gone and suitcases missing. What he doesn't notice at first, but when he does it hits him with a force so hard he sits back on the bed, is that she's left all of his favorites – the ones he picked out, that she wore for him, that became her favorites.

He crosses to 'his' closet, which is undisturbed except for a small box on the floor with a few of his things: razor, toothbrush, etc. He looks up to see far too few of his clothes hanging in the closet. Did he ever keep many things here? He can't remember.

For some reason it's that thought that helps him put the pieces together. The fact that he's become such a non-entity in her house is what finally makes it all click. This isn't really about April at all, it's about his absence in Lorelai's life. It's about the fact that when she asked the other night if he loved her, she really didn't know. And now, he's just starting to realize how wrong he's been all along.

He feels a sudden wave of nausea as he realizes the extent of his neglect. He thought that he needed the time to get to know his daughter, but he didn't see that while he was letting April into his life, he was pushing Lorelai aside at the same time. That the whole time he been taking her for granted, and she's been thinking she was losing him. He's known since Valentine's Day how anxious she's been to get married, and even though he thought he'd reassured her, he should have known better.

When she'd come rushing into the diner, and then confronted him in the street, he'd been taken by surprise at the level of her hurt, but he shouldn't have been. He should have remembered how she always tries to hide her hurt, how she tries to be strong all the time, until she can't anymore and all the anger and fear come out at once. He should have remembered that about her. He's supposed to know her. More than anyone, he's always been the one who could see the fears and insecurities that lay beneath her words, and yet he'd let this happen.

He looks back down at the cardboard box on the floor of the closet, wondering what it means, wondering if she really wants him gone from her life. He debates taking the little box with him, but in spite of the little voice that's saying he no longer deserves her, that's too permanent a statement right now. He's not ready for that yet. He just needs to talk to her.

With renewed determination, he leaves the house and goes straight to the Dragonfly. He breezes by Michel and heads directly for the kitchen. Sookie looks surprised, then resigned when she sees his determined expression.

"When did she leave, Sookie? Where did she go?"

"She's been staying with Rory."

"You told me that before, but now she's gone somewhere else." He says this with certainty, though he's not sure how he knows she's not just still at Rory's.

Sookie sighs, and then nods. "She got a short-term consulting job."

"What?" He stares back at her in open-mouthed confusion. "When did…I just saw her two days ago. How can she be consulting already?"

"She wanted to get away, so she called that guy from the Durham Group. You know, Mark something." She looks at him for confirmation.

"Mike. Mike Armstrong," he says flatly.

Sookie nods, waving her finger at his chest. "Yeah, right, that's it. She called him and he had a temporary position filling in for someone who's having an operation or something."

"Okay, temporary," he mutters to himself for reassurance. He takes a few deep breaths, then looks back up at Sookie. "Where?"

"I don't know."

He gives an irritated groan. "Sookie!"

"Luke, she didn't tell me," she insists. She looks down for a moment, sighing. "I'm her best friend and she didn't tell me because she didn't want you to know."

He bellows with frustration. He wants to lash out, but Sookie isn't the right target, so he releases tension by reaching to adjust his hat with both hands.

Sookie watches, and then asks, her voice softer now, "Luke, what happened?"

"I don't know," he says dully.

"Luke!" Sookie's annoyance is clear, but then her voice softens, "I'm worried about her too. The least you can do is fill in some blanks for me."

"She'd been avoiding me for days." He met Sookie's eyes. "I don't know why. I'd been trying to call her, but then she showed up out of the blue the other night and wanted to elope."

"When?"

"Right then. She kept saying it had to be right then." He looks up at Sookie sadly, "She said 'now or never.'"

"And you said not now?"

He just nods. Sookie looks back at him and he thinks he sees understanding in her eyes, but when she speaks, her words are sharp. "So when, Luke?"

His head snaps up and he looks at her defiantly. "What?"

"When are you going to be ready to marry her? What exactly are you waiting for?" The suddenness of her questions takes him by surprise. When he doesn't immediately react, Sookie continues, "Because she's ready. She's ready and the longer she waits the sadder she gets. Just how long are you going to string her along?"

"I'm not stringing her along," he responds defensively, knowing Sookie has a point, but taken aback by her tone. "I waited while she sorted stuff out with Rory."

"I know, but the second Rory came back she was ready. But you," she said, gesturing wildly toward his chest. "You…just what the hell are you waiting for?"

"I just need to get things settled with April. I need to figure out how to be a dad." He pleads for her to understand, even though Sookie's not the one who needs to understand. "I have twelve years to make up for."

"I get that Luke. This is huge. I do understand that, but why can't you do that _with_ Lorelai?" When he doesn't have an answer for her, she pushes further. "I just don't understand why she has to be excluded from all of it?"

"I'm not trying to exclude her," he insists, but then gives a resigned sigh, knowing that's exactly what had happened. He continues softly, "I just wanted April to get a chance to know me before she met Lorelai."

"But Luke, it's been months." Sookie pressed. "Why were you waiting so long?"

"Because she's a girl."

Sookie's brow wrinkled into an expression of confusion. "Well, yeah…but…"

"I don't know anything about teenage girls. And she knows that, and Anna knows that. Hell, even April knows that. But Lorelai's the girl expert. Once April met Lorelai, I knew she wouldn't want to spend time with me."

"You're being ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "She's _your_ daughter."

He continues almost without hearing Sookie's protests, his defensiveness making him spew his thoughts out as they come to him. "And, besides, Anna's real particular about everything. She got really mad that Lorelai helped with the party. If I don't prove to her that I can do this, she might not let me see April."

"How can she say that?"

"Anna's just trying to do the right thing for April."

"How can you seriously think that?" Sookie asked, incredulous. "She kept your kid from you for twelve years? How is that in April's best interest?" Her voice softened as she added, "How can you be okay with that? How can you not be angry about that?"

"Of course I'm upset about it, but I can't focus on that now. I can't fight with Anna. I can't let April see that." Feeling helpless, he looks directly at Sookie, his voice falling. "I'm just trying to be reasonable."

"Of course you are," Sookie says softly, "but if Anna is threatening you about losing contact with April, then _she's_ not being reasonable." She fixes him with a thoughtful stare. "Have you even seen a lawyer?"

He sighs. "I'm not looking to get into a custody battle, Sookie."

"I'm not even talking about that, Luke, but you need to protect yourself and April." He gives her a skeptical look, and she clarifies, "What if, I don't know, something happened to Anna? Do you know if you're even legally recognized as April's dad?"

He looks down as he shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits.

"You need to find out, for April's sake if nothing else," Sookie says gently.

He gives a small nod. "You're probably right." He takes a deep breath and meets her eyes again. "But right now I'm worried about Lorelai. You really don't know where she is?"

"I really don't, Luke," Sookie answers genuinely. "And the thing is, I'd tell you if I did, because I think you two belong together and I want you to work this out. But, she knew that, and that's why she didn't tell me." She shrugs sadly. "She's got her cell phone."

"She won't answer her phone," he says gruffly.

"I don't know, Luke. Really."

"Okay, well I'm gonna…" he says, gesturing toward the door as he turns to leave.

"Uh Luke, can you wait a sec?" He turns back to see her hesitating, before she adds reluctantly, "There's something else."

"What?"

Sookie goes to the closet and digs an envelope out of her purse. "She…she wanted me to give this to you. I swear I tried to talk her out of it."

She holds out an envelope toward him. He can see a bulge in the center, and knows before taking it that it holds the engagement ring. Turning slightly away from Sookie, he looks inside, swallowing the lump in his throat. He has to take several deep breaths before he can get out, his voice rough, "Why?"

Sookie lets out a long sigh, and says softly, "She said she couldn't wear it anymore. I tried to talk her out of it." Her voice softens further, "I'm so sorry Luke."

She starts to reach for him, to rest a comforting hand on his arm, but he steps away before she can and says brusquely, "I've got to go."

He walks out past the front desk, holding the envelope so tightly he can feel the corners of the ring biting into his fingers. Opening his hand, he looks down at the mangled envelope. Feeling a little guilty at his treatment of it, he smoothes out the white paper and then folds it up carefully with the ring inside before placing it in his pocket for safekeeping.

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **If they were mine, I wouldn't be putting them through such torture. 

**Author's Note:** This the second story in the _Road Home_ series. If you haven't read the first story, _Empty_, I suggest you do, as it sets up events for this chapter. Thanks so much to **CineFille**, **Bridges**, and **Lula Bo** for the really helpful beta work. Thanks also to **juststandstill** for advising me about the intricacies of family law, helping me plot out future chapters, and for giving this chapter a read.

* * *

As much as it's a relief that Lorelai is _somewhere_, that _someone_ knows where she is, Luke can't let it go at that. The longer he goes without talking to her, the more anxious he gets about the future of their relationship. He's sure that Sookie would continue to say that he should give her some time, but he feels that he can't wait any longer to make sure Lorelai knows that he's sorry, to tell her that he's only just now realized how much he's hurt her. He needs her to listen, to hear him. 

Because she won't, he tries the next best thing. The day after Sookie tells him Lorelai left for the consulting job, Luke pulls Lane aside at the diner and asks for Rory's phone number. He promises that he's not going to hound Rory, but that he just wants to get a message to Lorelai. Lane eyes him cautiously as she writes it down and he wonders if he appears as manic on the outside as he feels inside.

In spite of his eagerness for the number, it takes him a few hours to figure out what to say and screw up the courage to make the call. Dinner rush is almost upon him by the time he shuts himself in the storeroom and dials, glancing nervously back and forth between the scrap of paper and the keypad of his phone. Once he presses send and puts the phone to his ear, he hunches over with his elbows resting on his knees and stares at his tightly closed fist.

"Hello?"

"Rory? It's…uh…Luke."

"Luke," she says softly. There's a hint of resignation in her voice that tells him she isn't entirely surprised by his call.

"Did you talk to Lane? I hope that it's okay that I called."

"Lane said that you told her she could say you'd fire her if she didn't give you the number," Rory jokes. Then she lowers her voice to confirm, "You didn't, right?"

"No," he answers quickly. "No, of course not. I wouldn't…"

"I know, I just…" She sighs. "This is kind of weird," she admits.

"I know it is and I wouldn't have called, but I'm worried about your mom. I need to talk to her." He can feel the impatience in his voice.

"I can't tell you where she is," Rory responds firmly, before softening as she continues, "she made me promise."

"I'm not…" He pauses, correcting himself, "Well, I _was_ going to ask, but if she made you promise, I won't." He takes a deep breath. "You've seen her though, right? Is she okay?"

Rory hesitates before answering. "She's…okay. I drove up with her to the inn where she's going to be consulting. Well," she clarifies, "I drove my car and she drove hers, but we took her stuff and I helped her get settled in."

He wants to ask when Lorelai's going to call him, when he'll see her again, but he reins in his urgency and just asks, "Do you know if she got my messages?"

He's expecting a little bitterness in her response – resentment that he's caused her mom pain – but all he hears in her voice is sadness. "She just needs some time, Luke."

"Okay," he acquiesces. "Can you just…when you talk to her, can you tell her I'm sorry?"

He thinks he hears a hitch in her voice before she answers, "Yeah."

"Well, thanks." He pauses, not knowing what more to say, but reluctant to break the only direct link that he has to Lorelai.

Rory's voice breaks the silence. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

He hears her take a breath before speaking, and her voice is shaky when she finally goes on. "You're…you are the only guy she's ever given her whole heart to." He can't keep his mind from adding 'and you broke it' to finish the sentence. "I just think that it's important you know that," she continues.

It takes some effort to force words by the sudden lump in his throat, and when he does they sound gruff to his ears, "Thanks for uh…thanks for telling me." He pauses. "I'm sorry, Rory."

She's quiet for a long moment, then he hears her say sadly, "I'm sorry too, Luke."

After the call, he's at a loss about what to do next. He knows she wants 'time,' but if she's going to spend time away from him, he wants her to do it knowing that he cares about her, that she's still the woman he wants to spend his life with.

* * *

The next day, during April's visit to the diner, while she's describing in detail her internet search for all the science museums in New England, he starts to feel a glimmer of optimism. "So, is it easy to do that?" he asks casually.

"Sure, as long as you pick the right search terms."

"So, could you, say, find all of the inns in New England owned by a particular company?

"Probably." She gives him a puzzled look. "Why?"

"I'm, uh, just thinking about going away for the weekend."

"To an inn owned by a particular company?" There's a skeptical note in her voice.

"The Durham Group," he says, tearing a piece of paper from his order pad, and jotting down the words.

"Huh?" she asks, obviously still wondering about _why_ a particular company rather than _which_ company.

He slides the paper across the counter toward her. "The Durham Group. That's the name of the company."

"Oh," she says, nodding, but still looking a little confused. "So, are you going with Lorelai?"

"Yeah," he answers slowly, "that's the idea…" He feels a twinge of guilt as he says it though, he reasons, it's a small deception, and in his defense, he doesn't know what's going on until he talks to Lorelai anyway. _Except that she gave the ring back, you moron._ He's pulled back out of his head by the sound of April's voice.

"…I haven't seen her since the party. Is she okay?" April asks, her eyes full of concern.

"She's fine," he says quickly. Then he adds, by way of explanation, "She got an opportunity to consult at another inn. Temporarily," he added hurriedly. "It's a short-term assignment."

"Okay," April says, drawing out the word as she gives a small nod, "How long will she be away?"

It's a simple question, and Luke wishes he knew the answer. "A few weeks, a month, something like that," he says vaguely.

"That's not too specific." She looks directly at him, her eyes narrowed in doubt. "Is everything okay with you and Lorelai?"

"Yeah, it's just…" He stops, looking down at the counter and letting out a long sigh. He wishes briefly that April wasn't such a perceptive girl, and not even because he wants so desperately to hide anything from her. It's just that it's so hard to admit, to say out loud, how badly he may have screwed this up. He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly, his shoulders falling in defeat. "I don't know. I don't know, but I'm trying to fix it."

April gives him a long look, and then a small nod. "And finding the inns owned by," she glances down at the slip of paper, "the Durham Group," she looks back up at him, "finding these will help?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so too." She pauses, thinking. "Okay, well, I should be able to look these up tonight."

"Really?" he asks hopefully. She nods again, and he gives her a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She smiles back. "It's no problem, really." A mischievous look dawns across her face. "Now if you had email, I could send you what I find tonight, but if you're going to continue your luddite existence, I'll have to bring it to you." She thinks for a moment. "I could probably bring it tomorrow. I don't have anything to do after school."

He starts to protest that he doesn't want her to go out of her way, but he's too impatient for the information to be polite. He'll make it up to her somehow. "Thanks. That would be great." Then he gives her a wink. "Maybe one of these days you'll talk me into a computer after all."

April grinned. "Well, I'll keep up the campaign."

* * *

True to her word, April drops by the next day after school and hands him a list. "Here you go. It looks like The Durham Group owns twenty-two properties in New England. I included all the contact information: phone number, address, and email. Not that you'll use the email," she looks up at him and smirks, "yet."

He grins back. "We'll see about that." Then he taps his finger on the paper, "Thanks for this."

"Well, let me know if you find what you're looking for. They sound nice."

"Okay," he says, nodding.

April hangs around for a little while, but once she leaves, Luke holes himself up in his apartment and calls every inn on the list, asking to speak to Lorelai Gilmore. On the sixteenth call, instead of getting, "I'm sorry. No one by that name works here," he gets, "She stepped out for lunch. Can I take a message?"

"No, that's okay. I'll call back."

He looks back at the address: Burlington, Vermont. Knowing where she is takes a huge weight off his shoulders.

It's not terribly difficult to arrange to be away for a couple of days, especially when he promises Lane and Caesar time off over the weekend. April's due for a visit on Saturday, so he'll make sure he's back by then.

Thursday morning he sets out early, partly out of habit and partly out of eagerness to finally see Lorelai, and talk to her. Once on the road, he drives without stopping and without his usual patience.

He finds the inn easily after exiting Interstate 89. He can tell from the signs that he's close to the University of Vermont, though the inn seems to be outside the most bustling part of campus. He pulls into the small lot and takes in the sprawling building. Though well maintained, it's clear that the building itself is old and has been added onto several times. Across the field he can see what looks to be a barn and wonders if this inn has horses like the Dragonfly.

During the entire drive, he'd focused only on his determination to get here, but now that he's standing outside the building, he's dreading facing what is sure to be a difficult conversation. He takes a deep breath, building his resolve, then buries his hands in his pockets and turns toward the front of the inn.

When he enters, he's surprised to see several guests in the lobby, apparently in the process of checking out. Luke hangs back by the door, the crowd giving him a chance to watch Lorelai as she goes over the bills with the guests and exchanges polite conversation. She gives the guests perfectly serviceable smiles and laughs weakly at their feeble jokes, and suddenly he's sure that he's the only one who can tell that her heart isn't completely in it. No one here would know that when she really smiles it goes all the way to her eyes.

He tries to imagine her reaction when she sees him and pictures anger, sadness, confusion and even a little glimmer of happiness thrown in for good measure. What he doesn't expect is the way that the surprise and shock she shows upon seeing him are followed by a blank look of defeat and a resigned sigh.

"Luke," she says quietly, her voice oddly calm. "What are you doing here? Why did you come here?"

"I came to find you," he answers matter-of-factly, as he walks across the room to stand in front of the reception desk. He lowers his voice and asks, "What about you?"

She gestures around the room. "Consulting." He glares at her for avoiding the bigger question, and she looks down at the papers in front of her before saying, "I needed to get away."

"Why?"

"Don't do this, Luke," she says flatly.

"What?" He's confused by her stoic demeanor, such a contrast to the emotional breakdown outside the diner.

She sighs. "You don't want me." The soft certainty in her words unnerves him.

He gives a huff of frustration. "How do you know what I want?"

"You _really_ don't want me," she insists quietly, fumbling with the pencils on her desk.

He waits for her to look up before speaking, his voice softening. "I've always wanted you. That hasn't changed."

Her expressionless eyes look back at him. "It will."

"No, it won't."

She gives a small shake of her head. "You should go."

His response is adamant. "No. I want to talk to you. I came all the way up here. I'm not going to leave just like that."

She shakes her head again, but her shoulders fall in surrender. She calls to someone across the room that she'll be back in five to ten minutes. He starts to argue that they'll need more time than that, but she gives him a quick glance before she turns and walks toward the back of the inn, then opening a door and walking into a small studio apartment. He glances around the room as he enters. Beyond a stack of DVDs next to the television and a few of Paul Anka's things scattered around the space, he'd have been hard pressed to tell that there was anyone living here, much less someone who typically lives in a state of organized chaos.

Lorelai is still facing away from him as he closes the door. She doesn't say anything for a moment, the only sound that of their breathing…and the jingle of Paul Anka's collar as he lifts himself off his dog pillow and walks softly over to her. While she pets him, the dog peers around her leg in what looks a little like an assessment of the enemy, though Luke can't imagine that he's really become the enemy, or that Paul Anka could do anything about it if he were.

When she makes no attempt to speak, he presses her, "So, can we talk?" He takes a breath. "I'm so sor-"

"I slept with Christopher."

Her words are quiet, and so his first reaction is a shocked, "What?" but he can already feel the blood draining from his face. It's an odd expression, he's always thought, but at this moment he imagines that he can actually feel it leaving and taking with it any muscle control he might have been able to muster.

She turns and lifts her eyes to his, and repeats, "I slept with Christopher, so you should-"

He's still wrapping his head around her words as he bites out, "What? When?"

She folds her arms across her chest, and it strikes him that she looks like she's bracing herself for an attack, "After I asked you…" she pauses and looks down, "after I asked you to elope."

"_When_ after?" he snaps.

"That night," she says in a croaked whisper.

The words hit him with such a force he practically recoils. "But I was _worried_ about you. I've been _so_ worried about you. And you were…" He's never so badly wanted to break something, to shout and yell and let her know how furious he is. But she's just standing there, her expression dead, and it's so unnerving that he simply says again, "You were…"

"I know." She lifts her head and for this looks him in the eye, her voice dull as she goes on. "So you should go. You don't want me."

It's now that he finally fully understands her meaning. With one last look he turns and leaves, not at all sure what he wants anymore.

_To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine, but they're broken and I'm trying to fix them.

**Author's Note:** This was a very difficult and painful chapter to write. I could not have done it without all of the amazing feedback from my betas, **Cinefille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo**. Thanks to **Lula** for giving it a second look to ease my paranoia.

* * *

Luke knows enough not to get in his truck when he's this angry, so he kicks his way down the street, not even knowing or caring which direction he's headed. He just needs to get away, to be alone while he makes sense of what has happened. 

It's more than he can take in, knowing that Lorelai ran to _him_. He'd made himself move on from those concerns, from those petty jealousies, telling himself that even if he didn't trust him, he trusted her.

And he had; he'd let himself trust her.

He focuses all of his hostility on attacking every random pebble or piece of road debris. He's having a hard time getting a hold of his anger and reeling it in. This is beyond kicking-a-car angry. This is verging on hurting-someone angry and he doesn't want to be near anyone if he can't keep control of his emotions.

For awhile, it's enough to walk, the movement sufficient to distract him from his thoughts. The sunshine is hazy through wispy clouds, and he can feel its heat through his flannel. It's hot enough that even the breeze serves only to let him know where his skin has grown damp with sweat.

The sound of traffic alerts him to the intersection with a busier road and he turns onto it and continues walking, putting as much distance as he can between himself and Lorelai. He can't remember ever feeling quite so angry towards a single individual. The betrayal stings all the more for the amount of time he's worried over her, and for the guilt he's felt. He'd been willing to take on the full responsibility of their situation and to do what he needed to do to get her back. Now he's not even sure they can go back, if they can ever be the same again. Or if he even wants them to.

He feels too many contradictory things: hatred and love, anger and pain, all so blindingly vivid that it takes effort just to recognize the emotions, much less figure out what they mean, or what to do about them.

As he walks, he just keeps running her confession through his head, eventually numbing himself to it through sheer overexposure. By the time he's gone what he guesses is two or three miles, his heart rate has slowed and he's fallen into a miserable, though less volatile, funk.

He looks ahead to see a bridge stretched across a section of river, the water below swirling around natural and manmade obstacles. He stops to lean on the railing overlooking the water. Upstream a bit are a few cascades, picturesque but too small to really be called waterfalls. Just below the bridge is what looks to be a hydroelectric dam and then a series of meandering twists. It's as good a place as any to stop for a moment.

He'd been avoiding thinking about the envelope in his pocket or the item inside it. He'd come here prepared to do what it took for Lorelai to take it back; now he's not sure he wants her to know he brought it. He pulls the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and gently unfolds it. Reaching inside, he pulls out the ring, holding it between his thumb and index finger. He remembers how excited he'd been to give it to her, how glad he was to find something that he _knew_ she'd love. And now he just wants to throw it away the way that she'd thrown away their relationship. He lets the ring fall into his palm and coils his fingers around it.

He's tempted to wind up and toss it in the river, and he even starts to. But an action this momentous requires a crashing waterfall or massive ocean waves crashing into rocks; the mild rapids here aren't enough. He doesn't want this ring to sink calmly a few feet to the bottom of the river or get stuck in the sludge behind a dam. He wants it crushed to pieces by the force of water hitting stone.

He starts to slip the ring back in the envelope, but as he opens his hand it gets stuck to his skin and then slides down his finger. It's only by gathering his fist to his chest that he's able to save it from following a trajectory right down into the water. He cradles the ring next to his shirt, his heart pounding at the thought of accidentally doing what he'd seriously considered only moments before. Stepping away from the edge, he carefully puts the ring back in the envelope and back into pocket.

It takes him a few minutes to catch his breath, to realize what he almost did. He wants to go give it back to her, to ask her to keep it safe. But then he remembers what she did, and the anger comes back with renewed force, the pain magnified by her lack of reaction.

He can't get over the fact that she doesn't seem to care about…anything. Not about what she did, or the fact that he knows, or about what they were to each other. He can't make sense of her flat expression and quiet words – not after hearing the sincerity in her voice during the frantic speech in the street outside the diner. Not after the way she'd said she loves him.

It's that contradiction that turns him around and sends him back the way he came. He needs to understand how she came to be so unemotional about her desire to end this relationship. How she can be so deliberately cold in her announcement about Christopher.

By the time he gets back to the inn he's worked himself into a state of frustration, unable to process further without answers to his questions. As he enters the lobby, he takes a deep breath in an attempt to tame the intensity of his emotions. He glances around, searching for Lorelai.

The desk clerk gives him a friendly smile. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking for Lorelai Gilmore. Is she here?"

"She's done working for the day. I could-"

"That's okay. I'll see if she's in her room."

The clerk nods her assent and Luke follows the main hallway toward the back of the inn. He has to knock twice before she answers the door, her face falling from a neutral expression into a look of defeat when she sees him.

"Luke," she says, sighing. He pauses a moment before saying anything, glancing at her and around the room. She's changed out of her professional attire into sweat pants and a short-sleeved shirt. The television remote is in her hand; he can see the TV tuned to some sort of sitcom rerun and a half-eaten meal on her coffee table. It's too normal, too comfortable, and it feels wrong that she's just sitting here eating dinner while he's been out agonizing over their relationship.

"I need to talk to you," he says, his voice more gruff than intended.

She meets his eyes for a moment, then looks away. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing to-" he stops, incredulous. "Nothing to talk about? How about what were you thinking? How could you do that? How could you drop that on me and run…to _him_?" With every question, his voice grows louder and more forceful. "What were you thinking?" She has backed away from the door and bumped into the back of the couch as he walks toward her, closing the door behind him.

"I don't know," she says quietly.

"I don't know?" he roars. "I deserve better than that!"

"I know you do. I just-"

Luke sees Paul Anka lift his head from where he's sitting on the couch and lick Lorelai's hand, and sees her instinctively reach to pet him in response. It's just a simple, ordinary gesture, but it adds to that sense that she doesn't care about the enormity of what has happened. "Don't you know how much this hurts, that you went to _him_?"

She crosses her arms across her chest and gives a small nod. "Yes."

"I trusted you. I don't know if I can…" he says, his fury taking on a plaintive tone.

"I know," she says, shaking her head, "I don't expect you-"

He cuts her off before she can finish. He can't take the calm answers and the blank expression. He knows the two of them were more than this. It can't be that she just doesn't care. "Stop," he says, his voice sharp. "Stop with all of that. Don't you even care? Don't you care about us? About me at all? "

Her voice is still flat even as she says, "Of course I-"

"But you're just standing there, like I'm trying to sell you life insurance or something. What the hell is wrong with you? God, Lorelai." He lifts his arm and then drops it in a gesture of defeat. The silence between them is interrupted by the laugh track from the television and he jerks his head in annoyance as Lorelai fumbles to hit the power button. When the television flickers off, she remains still, looking down at her hands cradling the remote. He gives a discouraged sigh. "We're supposed to get married. We were going to get _married_. How can you just stand there like that?"

He hears her say, her voice a little choked, "No, we weren't."

He looks at her in amazement. "We were engaged, you were wearing my ring. You were wearing my ring!" It's not until he repeats the words that it occurs to him, and his mouth drops open in shock as he says the words again. "You…you…were wearing it…" How is it possible that this is the first time he's realizing that she was wearing it? He'd been holding it over the river, about to throw it away and he suddenly wishes he had. He wants to throw the ring back at her, but then he'd have to admit that he has it, that he'd been foolish enough to bring it to Vermont in the hope that she'd take it back.

So he keeps it in his pocket, though it brings horrifying pictures to mind. Her fingers touching _him_. His lips on hers. Him inside her.

He has a vague sense that she's speaking, protesting something, but the images are screaming too loudly in his head and he throws his words at her, "Nobody sees the goods but you. You said that. And you…with him…" his voice trails off and he takes a breath. When he speaks again he can hear the anger seeping back in, but it's tinged with anguish. "We were getting mar-"

"No, we weren't," she says with a ragged sob, and he jerks his head up to look at her. It's the first time he's noticed that she's crying, her words coming out in gasps, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

It's such a relief to see her react at all, to know that she feels something, that he almost doesn't notice that hiding under the relief, he's feeling gratified that she's hurting. It's not something that he wants to recognize – this desire to see her in pain – but for just a moment he holds onto the thought that she deserves to hurt a little. That somehow her anguish will, in some twisted way, help to balance the scales.

She takes a breath and goes on, her words coming out like stale beer glugging in spurts out of an overturned bottle. "I tried. I was patient. I let you postpone the wedding, I gave you space, because that's what _you_ wanted. You needed time with April. You needed her not to meet me. And I was trying _so hard_ to be patient, because it's a huge thing, finding out you have a kid, so I was letting you figure it out. But the longer I waited the further it got. And it felt like it was slipping away. It felt like you were slipping away. It's all I wanted this year: to get Rory back and to marry you."

He starts to speak up, to tell her that he doesn't want to hear her excuses, but the words seem to be just a bit out of her control, and he's not sure she'd hear him if he did try to speak.

"I wanted to be married to you, to have kids with you, to live with you, and it just kept not happening. And I waited, and then Lane got married and it just wasn't fair that she got to get married and I was still waiting, so I lost it at her wedding." She pauses, visibly wincing at the memory, before spitting out in disgust, "I made such a pathetic fool of myself."

"What, because of singing a stupid song?" he asks in disbelief. He wants to hold onto his anger, to be irritated that she's standing here talking about Lane, but he's thrown by the depth of her sadness. There's an element of self-hatred in her voice that makes her pain seem more dismal than he's witnessed before, on the rare occasions that she's let him see her collapse.

"It wasn't a song, Luke!" she cries in frustration. "It was a stupid drunken speech about – God, I don't know – how hard it was to get married, and how lucky Lane was, and how I was never going to get married." She looked up at him briefly through red-rimmed eyes. Seeing his shocked expression, she added bitterly, "And you don't know that, because Patty made up that stupid story and told everyone and told me to be patient – that you'd come around. And I was relieved, when she did that, but part of me wished you'd found out, because I would have had to tell you. Even if it was an awful, horrible conversation, we would have had it."

She is still crying, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and taking big hiccupping gulps of air between sobs. "Patty said to be patient, that I'd eventually get you. I wanted so much to believe her. I thought I got to have it. I thought if I did things right, if I worked hard, I could have it: life, love, work, kids, family. It's all I wanted, to grow old with you. Be with you. Love you." She stops for a moment, and the room is suddenly quiet except for her uneven breaths, the sound of the dog shuffling around on the couch and his own measured breathing. Before Luke has a chance to respond, to decide whether to console her, she continues. "I tried _so hard_ to be who you needed me to be, to be patient and understanding. And I'm not really. I'm not patient, but I tried. But it wasn't getting better."

The despair he hears in her voice is so pure. There are no witty jokes about Clarence Thomas; there's not that frenetic glimmer of hope he'd seen as she tried to drag him off to elope. She's just standing in front of him, laid bare with no defenses at all, her body still and beaten as she looks down at her hands.

"I was so glad about the party, to get to meet April and to get to know her. When you said Anna was upset, I had to go explain, so she wouldn't be angry at you, so that she could see that I'm a harmless person. And it was like it didn't matter, because engaged isn't married. That's what she said to me. I tried to explain that we were solid. But the thing is, she was right all along. Engaged _isn't_ married. Being engaged doesn't guarantee anything, because we were engaged for so long, but there was no date, and it didn't seem like there was ever going to be a wedding. I wanted so desperately for her to be wrong, but she wasn't. I didn't know what to do. I was so mixed up. I didn't want you to see how hard it was for me to wait and how impatient I was, and you would have, because if some random psychologist I've never met can see it, you'd see it." The mention of a psychologist surprises him. Lorelai isn't one to open herself up to people. It's one more signal that things had gone far more wrong than he had realized.

He can barely bring himself to look up and see the grief in her expression, can scarcely stand to hear the ache in her words as she continues her confession. "We had this session in her car and I told her everything: how much I loved you; how I wanted to marry you and have another kid; how I was afraid of losing you if I pushed too hard. She said I didn't really seem to have you and if I couldn't have you the way I wanted, then maybe it wasn't meant to be. She said that and I just needed to know. I just needed to know if you cared about me at all. And maybe I asked too much, right then. I'm sure I did it all wrong, but I just wanted something. I just wanted to know that you cared about me. I just wanted someone to care about me."

There's a desperation in her voice that he's never heard before, a vulnerability so naked that it shocks him. He's always seen beyond her façade, to the insecurities that lay below, and been surprised at the strength she showed in spite of them. But now there's none of that strength and he can't decide if it's broken or if the strength was itself another façade. Whatever it is, he's seeing for the first time a woman so blatantly needy, who wants only to be cared about. And he knows he's the one who made her think she wasn't.

He'd been caught off-guard when she'd shown up at the diner, and he'd let himself get hung up arguing about purple wallpaper, about Anna. Somehow, in between the details he couldn't make sense of, he'd missed the bigger picture. He hadn't been able to see just how badly he'd hurt her.

He understands now why she walked away, why she felt she had to leave. She had put it all on the line and asked him to make a leap with her. When he hadn't been able to do 'now,' she'd resigned herself to 'never.'

She's still crying, and as she buries her face in her hands and leans back against the couch, he realizes that they haven't moved since he entered the room. They're both still standing as if in some sort of face-off. He walks toward her and leads her over to her bed, lowering her gently and then pulling her against his chest. She tries to protest with incoherent words and ineffectual attempts to shake him off, but she eventually gives up her struggle and he just holds her as she continues to cry. She's still talking, but the words are mumbled and hidden in her sobs. He has a sense that she's talking about what happened after the ultimatum and he's relieved that he has no idea what she's saying. He doesn't think he can reconcile this woman in his arms with the one who betrayed him with Christopher.

So he just holds her instead, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back. She feels so fragile, so delicate, so _small_, and it strikes him how much of her presence is the strength of her personality.

He's not sure how long it is before her tears stop and she slumps in his arms. Drawing back her covers, he lays her down and slides the blankets over her. He's tempted to lie down next to her, to pull her back against him and whisper apologies. The level of understanding he feels surprises him in the wake of his earlier anger.

Looking around, he flips on a small lamp and turns off the overhead light, settling onto the love seat, so as not to disturb the dog on the couch. As tired as he is, he can't sleep, can't get over the pain in her words. He takes the ring out of his pocket, turning it over and around, watching as the bright spots of light it sends dance across the walls and ceiling. He tries to figure out when it was that marrying Lorelai became something stressful and not the fulfillment of a long-held dream. When it was that he started making her think he didn't care. When it was that she started giving up on their 'forever.'

He leans his head back, closing his eyes against the image of Lorelai so weak and sad. There are so many unanswered questions, so many missing explanations in this story that get grayer and fuzzier the more he tries to make sense of it. At some point in the fog, he falls off to sleep, his mind too overwhelmed to think any longer.

* * *

Luke wakes before she does, his body stiff from a night spent propped up on the too-small love seat. Lorelai looks as if she hasn't moved a muscle, though at some point during the night Paul Anka moved from his post on the couch to curl up next to her. She's turned away from Luke, and watching her breathe slowly in and out, he's able to push aside the images from last night, and let some of his anger seep back in again, if only for a moment. There's a piece of him that wants to hold onto it, to immunize himself against the compassion he feels. He sighs, then pulls himself up and walks over to the kitchenette, finding the coffee and starting a pot. It's just beginning to drip when he hears her voice behind him. 

"You don't have to do that."

He turns to see Lorelai standing behind him, her face drawn and tired in spite of the sleep. She's unusually pale and he can see salty tear tracks running down her cheeks. "It's no problem," he says slowly.

"But you shouldn't," she looks down at her feet, "you shouldn't have to take care of me. Not after…"she lets out a long, defeated sigh. "I shouldn't have cried on you like that. It's not right." She looks up at him and her expression is utterly hopeless. "I'm sorry," she says, and he's not sure exactly what she's apologizing for.

He looks back at her, taking in the beleaguered set of her shoulders and the grief in her eyes, and knows that he's never seen her look so profoundly sad. He'd been unnerved and angered to see her so emotionless and blank, but this is worse.

He's still not exactly sure what happened to make Lorelai seem so empty and so cold, but whatever was going on in her head, he knows he's the one responsible for breaking through that and exposing the misery, that it's in part because of him that she looks like a shell of her former self. She says again, "You shouldn't have to take care of me. You didn't need to stay." Though she's probably right, he knew never would have been able to leave her alone last night.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm…" She pauses, and gives a small shrug. "I'll be fine. But you should go."

He nods. "It that's what you want," he says, knowing that he needs to go before he lets himself get drawn in again. It would be so easy to wrap her in his arms and try to forget what has happened, but he can't analyze everything that he's feeling when she's so close.

"It is. Last night…" She hesitates. "That was above and beyond. You don't…you don't have to worry about me."

He gives her another small nod, then finds a mug and fills it from the freshly brewed pot. Handing it to her he says, "Well, then I guess I'll…" His voice trails off as he gestures toward the door. He turns to go, then finds himself spinning back, leveling his gaze on her as he asks, "If I call to see how you are, will you answer?"

"You don't-"

"I know, but I want to make sure you'll be okay. Not every day or anything. Not like before," he says, remembering with embarrassment his spree of calls after she left him standing at the diner. "Just so I know you're okay."

She looks like she doesn't have the energy to argue. "Fine." She's nervously fidgeting with her clasped hands.

"Okay, well, I'll talk to you then." He gives her one last long look before turning and walking out the door.

He climbs into the truck, feeling even more lost than when he arrived the previous day. He's having trouble making sense of it all, sorting out the hate and the love. Trying to figure out if wants to run from the anger, or run from the guilt. Trying to figure out if there's any way to reconcile them. The only thing he really knows that he's never seen Lorelai quite so broken.

_To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine, but you knew that already.

**Author's Note:** As always, **CineFille**, **Lula Bo**, and **iheartbridges** have pushed me, questioned me and generally helped me make this better than it would have been without their input. I also have to give huge special thanks to **juststandstill** for answering an anonymous request a couple of months ago for information about family law. We've since exchanged many emails in my attempt to make the legal part of the story as accurate as possible, and I'm not sure I could have plotted out the story without that advice.

* * *

It's been three days. Three days of working and trying not to think about what she did, trying not to remember how damaged she looked. The phone in his pocket nags him. He told her that he'd call, to check on her, to make sure she was okay. He said he'd call, but he doesn't; he wants to call, but he doesn't. Because he doesn't _want_ to want to. He wants to be angry, to hate her. He even, he lets himself admit, _does_ hate her a little bit. So why does that bother him? Why does he worry that it's becoming harder to keep the anger from festering, to keep it from growing into something that's bigger than a little bit.

* * *

Monday afternoon, Luke leaves the kitchen of the diner and is surprised to find Sookie sitting at the counter. She's not a frequent customer and if she's here at all she's usually with Lorelai. He glances at her and the pity in her eyes tells him immediately that she knows the full circumstances of the situation with Lorelai. He almost can't bear to talk to her, but he steels himself and walks over to where she is sitting.

"Hey."

"Hey, Luke, how are you doing?" There's a heavy meaning in her words, a question that goes beyond the superficial.

"I'm fine," he says, brushing off her inquiry.

She insists though. "Luke. I talked to her. I _know_."

He sighs and looks at her, for a moment sharing a sense of disappointment, before he jams his hands in his pockets and looks down at the counter to avoid her gaze. "I don't want to talk about it."

She nods, unusually perceptive, and just says, "I'm sorry, Luke. You don't deserve that."

"Yeah, well," he starts, then asks gruffly, "Do you want something to eat?"

Looking somewhat chastened, she thinks for a minute, then says, "How about a cheeseburger, French fries, and a Coke. And Luke?"

"I know, the burger will be cooked just a touch beyond medium, definitely pink but not red. That it?"

She nods, giving him a small smile, and he turns toward the kitchen. When he returns with her food, she hesitates before saying, "You know, there was one other thing."

"What now?" he asks impatiently.

"It's just," she lowers her voice, "I brought the information for the lawyer Jackson and I used. The one I told you about." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a card. "He just did our wills, but his card says family law, too. I don't know if he does it, or if it's maybe someone else in his office, but he was good, explained everything really well. So here," she says, thrusting the card at him, "if you want, you can give him a call." She looks up at him, her features falling into an expression of sympathy. "No matter what, you need to take care of everything for April."

He has to look away from the sympathy in her eyes, as he says simply, "Thanks," and slips the card in his shirt pocket.

He's not sure what to make of the fact that Sookie's the first person besides April to mention Lorelai to him. The silence from the town is disconcerting. He can't figure out what it means that he hasn't been accosted by people poking their noses in where they don't belong. He's not sure if everyone is keeping their distance after the previous year's break-up, or if there's some other reason for the curious lack of prying. He almost wishes someone would say something, or pull out a ribbon. Something annoying that would allow him to transfer, however briefly, the focus of his anger.

When he and Lorelai had broken up after her parent's vow renewal Luke had been angry at everyone: Lorelai, himself, the town, Christopher, Emily, and he'd let himself take it out on everyone. This time the anger is more precisely directed, so tourists, patrons, and Kirk aren't feelings the brunt of it. He's stewing inside, roiling with hate and guilt and love, but outwardly he's simply tight-lipped and slightly more gruff than usual. It's a mystery to Luke how he's able to calmly take people's orders, bring them food, and occasionally remember to thank them for coming when his thoughts are so vicious and hateful and confused.

Later, when Luke reaches into his pocket to take a look at the business card and pulls out his phone instead, he wishes he could convince himself that he's just calling out of concern and because he said he would. He wishes it wasn't because he misses her and because the anger he feels is starting to frighten him. He wishes it wasn't because he wants to hear her voice.

It's quiet in the diner, the time when everyone's been served their dinners and there's not much to do until they leave and he can clean up. He lets Caesar know he'll be back in a bit and then takes a breath before treading heavily up the stairs.

He walks into his apartment and lowers himself into the armchair as he flips open his phone. Before he can talk himself out of it, he presses the button still programmed for her number. He's almost surprised when he hears the ring trilling in his ear. At the second ring, he stands up, suddenly too comfortable for the moment. She picks up on the third ring and just says, "Luke." He's not sure how she manages to get surprise, sadness and resignation all wrapped up in that one word.

"Yeah."

A lull settles in after his hesitant attempt at a response. He bends his head down, the phone snug against his ear and his free hand scratching at the back of his head. He takes a breath and gets out, "How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, this time less convincingly.

He's not sure where to go from here, not clear on what he's expecting from this conversation. Before he can stammer out a response, she says, "Luke, you don't have to…you don't-"

"How's work?" he cuts in, unwilling to let go of this before they've really even said anything. "How's the inn?"

He can hear a sigh of what might be relief. "It's good. The people are really nice."

"Is the work the same as at the Dragonfly?"

"Pretty much." She pauses a moment before clarifying, "They don't do quite as many events here as we do at the Dragonfly, but they get more business travelers."

"Makes sense, I guess," he responds lamely, cringing at his inability to talk to her. Grasping at straws, he asks, "How is Paul Anka doing? Is he adjusting okay?" He imagines Lorelai sitting on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her and the dog curled up against her leg.

"Yeah, surprisingly well, actually." She adds softly, "I'm glad I brought him," and he can hear a vulnerable tremor in her voice that tells him how lonely she is. In the silence that follows, she takes a breath and says, "It's early. The diner must still be open."

He can't tell if this is some sort of subtle signal that the conversation is winding down, or something else, so he answers, "Yeah, but Caesar's downstairs."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I should let you get back to it."

"Uh, okay," he says reluctantly. "Have a good week."

"Thanks. You too. And Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for calling."

"You're welcome. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he hears before she breaks the connection. After closing his own phone, he just stands there for a minute holding it, allowing himself a moment of regret that this is what his relationship with Lorelai has become.

* * *

It's been a couple of days since Luke had talked to Lorelai, and the third time he's seen April since returning from Vermont. Ever since April had agreed to look up the inns for him, he could tell that she'd wanted to ask about how he and Lorelai were doing. He doesn't want to lie to her, but it's still too much to sort out for himself, much less explain to his daughter. There are still those moments, though, when she tips her head to the side a bit, purses her lips, and taps her pencil just below the corner of her mouth. It's the expression she wears when she's thinking, and in the past those moments have often been followed by questions, so he's been keeping his eye out and when he sees that look, he preempts her.

"You're almost done with school, right? Just a few more weeks?" he asks casually while he refills her water glass.

Her pencil drops back down to her notebook, where she's brainstorming science fair projects, and she gives a little nod. "Yep, we get out June 21st."

"Do you have any plans for the summer?"

"There's a biotechnology program that I'm going to do for a week in July, and then a science fair program in August." She taps one finger against another as she ticks off the activities in her head. When she looks up, he gives her an encouraging smile and she continues, "And we're going to go see my grandmother for a week at the end of July. Other than that, I'll just be hanging out with my friends."

"That sounds good. Busy, but good."

"What about you? Do you have summer plans?"

He shrugs, trying not to think about the fact that this summer is even more uncertain than ever. "Just working."

"But don't you ever go anywhere?"

He lifts his hand in a vague gesture toward April. "I went to Philadelphia with you."

She fixes him with a skeptical stare, "To chaperone a field trip. Don't you ever go on vacation?"

"Not usually."

"What about when you were a kid?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Huh?"

"What did you do during the summer when you were a kid?"

"Well, uh, we always went to the cabin in the summer," he starts, a little wistfully. "We'd go on weekends when we could, but Dad would always figure out a way to cover the store for two weeks at a time once every summer and we'd go for a longer trip."

"You have a cabin? I didn't know you had a cabin." April goes back to tapping her pencil on her notebook, but then looks up. "Oh. Hey. Is it on a lake?"

He gives her a single nod. "Yeah, it's on a lake. Dad liked fishing, and, I guess, so do I." He pauses for a minute, thinking. "I haven't been there in a while."

"We should go sometime," she says matter-of-factly, pointing at him as she continues. "You could teach me how to fish."

"You want to learn to fish? Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"As long as I could do water quality experiments at the same time," she says with a grin.

He smirks. "Well, I think that could be arranged."

When she nods and says, "Cool," he realizes that she'd been serious. She really wants to go, honestly wants to spend time on the lake with him. The thought makes him smile for a moment, before the practical wins out.

"We'd have to check with your mom, of course, before we plan anything."

April gives a little wave of her hand. "I'm sure she won't mind," she says, with airy confidence, and before Luke can correct her, she goes on. "In fact, she has this big sale at the store the weekend after school gets out. It's her 'Welcome to Summer' sale," she gives him a knowing look, "which is really so that she can clear out the inventory before the fiscal year ends on June 30. But she's always really busy with the sale and the year-end inventory, so that might be a good weekend."

He thinks for a moment. "That might work," he agrees, "but I really do have to check with your mom before we decide anything."

April barely seems to have heard him. "Can I invite Marcia?"

"Let's make sure it's okay if you go first."

"Okay." April shrugs, then goes back to her list as Caesar calls out that Kirk's peanut butter and jelly sandwich is ready.

* * *

The next day, in the middle of the quietest part of the afternoon, after Luke has sent Caesar home, he hears the harsh jangle of the bell as the diner door opens abruptly, and before she makes it even halfway across the room, Anna spits out, "Luke, I need to talk to you."

She is using her 'you screwed up' voice, so he sighs and says, "Do you want to talk in the back?"

Anna glances around quickly at the single customer in the corner and nods stiffly. Luke leads her back to the storeroom, turning around as she walks into the room and shuts the door, a little more soundly than necessary.

"How could you do that?" she demands.

He's baffled. "What? What did I do?"

"How could you make plans to go away with April without checking with me first?"

"We didn't make plans." He fumbles around, trying to explain. "I mean, we talked, but I was going to ask you about-"

"When Luke? When? Because she's been chattering up a storm about going to your cabin and bringing a friend. So when, exactly, were you planning to ask me, after she'd already spent a week getting excited about it?"

A couple of weeks ago she'd used this tone with him, and he'd cowered under it, apologizing and taking the blame for anything he might have done wrong. But so much has happened in that time. There's so much he's realized that he's done, or not done to screw up his life, that this misunderstanding pales in comparison. He shakes his head, protesting, "I finished up late last night and I've been here all day. I was going to call you after Lane came in, which will be in an hour or two."

"You should have run it by me before inviting her," Anna snaps.

"I _didn't_ invite her. She suggested it."

"She invited _herself_ to a cabin she didn't know you had?"

He gives a frustrated sigh. "Look, she asked what my family used to do over vacation and when I mentioned the cabin she asked if I'd take her. I told her we couldn't make plans until I talked to you." He can hear the bitterness in his voice when he adds, "Now can you explain what exactly I did wrong?"

Anna has the decency to look a little sheepish, but she insists. "I just need to know what's going on. I mean, she doesn't usually stay with you overnight, and I don't even know anything about your cabin."

"It's in western Massachusetts, on a lake. It's not huge, but it's got three bedrooms so there's plenty of space to sleep. There's electricity and running water. Everything's been childproofed." He adds the last out of annoyance.

"Okay, I get it Luke," she says, softening a bit. "I get it. It sounds…nice."

He doesn't respond for a moment, just stands there looking down toward the floor. He's still trying to rein in his anger at the way she'd barged here and accused him. He lifts his head to meet her eyes, and asks quietly, "When are you going to start running things by me?"

"What?"

"I'm always running things by you, checking with you, getting permission from you. When are you going to start checking with me?"

"Luke, you've only known her for six months."

He glares at her. "And why is that?"

She meets his gaze but then drops her eyes, saying with a sigh, "If there's something you need to know about I'll tell you."

"Like taking her away for a week in July?" he asks sharply. "When did you make those plans?"

"To see her grandmother. We go every year."

"_When_ did you plan it, Anna?" he asks again.

She lets out a sigh, then admits, "A couple of months ago."

"And _when_ were you going to tell me?"

"Luke, come on, " she pleads. "I'm still adjusting to this too."

"Then you should understand how I feel," he says gruffly. They look at each other for a long moment before he adds, "Just let me know if that weekend works," and then walks past her out of the storage room.

She comes out a few minutes later and before she leaves gives a tentative okay for the trip to the cabin, saying that she just needs to check their calendar before committing.

Once she's gone, he takes out his wallet and pulls the lawyer's business card from it, remembering the conversation he'd had with Sookie when he'd been looking for Lorelai. She'd reminded him about his rights and responsibilities. And she'd called Anna unreasonable. He doesn't have a good measure for that, doesn't know how to decide if that's the case. He does know that he's been letting Anna call the shots, that he's realizing the little ways that he's used her as an excuse to exclude Lorelai. He taps the card on the counter and gives it one last glance before placing it back in his wallet, still undecided about what to do with it.

He feels lost, unsure what's best for April, not wanting her to endure a battle between her parents, but he's less and less confident about the status quo. It's not lost on him that the one person he's usually comfortable talking to about his dilemmas is the one person he's pushed away through all this.

When he talks to her that night, since it's been three days since the last call, he keeps running his questions through his mind. He finds himself wishing they could break through the small talk and talk about something real, but the guilt in her voice reminds him why they can't talk about real things, reminds him that he's supposed to be angry with her.

And so, because of everything that's happened, when he finally decides to take a step, when he calls Harrison Blake, Esq., and sets up an appointment for the following week, instead of feeling like he's finally finding himself, he just feels more alone than ever.

* * *

The next day has a surreal quality to it. In an effort to push it from his thoughts, he'd relegated June 3rd to the back of his mind, but it had snuck up on him anyway. Even before Lorelai had confronted him in the diner, urging him to elope, the date had rung occasionally in his head with a note of guilt, and in the days after Lorelai poured her heart out to him, that guilt rang more soundly.

Though he'd tried to forget it was coming, the day had dawned just like any other Saturday. The ordinariness of it makes him feel out of sync with the rest of the people around him. It shouldn't feel like a regular morning, this day that was supposed to his wedding day.

He has a strange sort of regret about their postponed wedding plans. He'd never had a chance to get invested in June 3rd. He'd viewed all of Lorelai's excitement with the knowledge that he was hiding something huge from her. His awe at seeing her in her wedding dress had been tempered by the guilt at delaying his confession.

But he knows now how much of herself Lorelai had invested in those plans and how afraid she'd been that they'd never happen at all. He needs her to know that he understands that and he needs her to know that he's sorry he hadn't been able to give her that wedding.

And so he calls, knowing it's too late to change anything, but unable to let the day pass without recognition.

* * *

A few days later, Luke dresses in his 'bank' clothes, gets in his truck, and drives to the address on the business card, mentally preparing himself for confusing procedures, triplicate forms, and condescension, given his experience with Nicole's divorce lawyers. He's utterly surprised by the mild mannered man, wearing khakis and a shirt rolled up to his elbows, who ushers him into his modest office. He introduces himself and asks Luke to call him Harry.

Harry listens patiently and carefully, taking notes and stopping Luke occasionally to ask a clarifying question. Almost half an hour later, when Luke finishes detailing as much as he can remember about what he's done with April, he's amazed to find telling the story to this man doesn't make him feel like a complete jackass.

"Okay, so you're not sure if you've been legally identified as her father?" Harry asks him as they begin to summarize the facts.

"No," Luke admits, "but Anna hasn't given any indication that I'm not."

"Well then, you might very well be listed on her birth certificate, and that would make things easier, but we should prepare for the alternative, which would mean getting the court to order another DNA test."

Luke cringed at the thought of the court getting involved. "Can't Anna just declare me to be April's father?"

"Well, she might, "Harry concedes, "but I find in most situations that it's better not to ask for things that we can do through other means. If she contests this at all, then we should save any goodwill she might have, to get her to agree to a settlement rather than having to go to trial."

Luke found himself nodding in agreement. "It makes sense, it just feels so, I don't know, hostile. I don't want to fight with Anna. I just want to be able to spend time with my daughter."

Harry nodded back, "And that's why I'm really confident about this case. In the short time you've known about your daughter, you've done a good job getting to know her and showing that you can be a responsible parent. The fact that you're just asking to formalize what you've already been doing means that I expect things will go fairly smoothly. You just need to be prepared for the fact that she might contest your claim."

"Why would she? She's already pretty much admitted I'm April's father and she's been letting me hang out with her. Why would she start to object to it now?" Luke asks, worry starting to build about setting in motion something potentially contentious.

Harry shrugs. "It's hard to predict how people will react in these situations, but her lawyer will advise her that she's got everything to lose and nothing to gain, which is basically true."

"I'm not trying to take April away," Luke protested. "It just seems like we could all sit down at a table and work this out."

"Let's hope that's true, because that would avoid a trial, but before we can start that process, you need some facts on your side. Here's what we'll do: I'll try to get the birth certificate, and if I'm not able to get it, then it's likely you're not on it and we'll need to file a paternity suit in order to get the DNA test. If you are, we can just go ahead with suing for visitation rights."

The word 'suing' made Luke gulp at bit, but he had to admit that the guy made sense, and he'd had enough combative exchanges with Anna to think that he might be right about her trying to fight the suit.

Luke agreed to the proposed strategy and Harry told him he'd contact him as soon as he'd heard back about the birth certificate, which probably wouldn't be until the following week. As he left the office, Harry said, "I know it seems overwhelming, Mr. Danes, but you've got a good case here."

Luke nodded, and turned to go, wishing he had some idea if he was doing the right thing.

* * *

It's been almost two weeks since Luke's seen Lorelai and he's still carrying the ring in his pocket. He can't really explain why, except that he feels like it balances him somewhat. He's living in a sea of love and hate, unable to let go of either emotion and not sure that he wants to. When he's talking to her and he feels love and concern, he touches his pocket to remind himself why he's angry, to remind himself that he's supposed to hate her.

When he feels the anger and hate welling up, he slips his hand inside his pocket, feeling through the envelope the smooth curve of the band and the sharp points of the setting. He's even started to find a rhythm to his thoughts. It's easier to hate her on those days where he doesn't talk to her. It's those days he needs to sometimes slide his fingers inside the paper to feel the metal of the ring. When he starts visiting the storeroom so that he can take the ring out and hold it in the light, he knows it's time to call her, to hear her voice.

He can hear her guilt and sadness in every word, and he uses that to feed the compassion, to give him a bank of goodwill to spend against the hate. And when it runs out, he calls her again. Like he promised, it's only every few days, nothing too overwhelming.

Their phone calls are all the same. He asks about the inn and the dog and gets bland anecdotes in response. She asks few questions of him, nothing more personal than inquiries about the diner, as if that's all she's entitled to know. It never takes them very long to exhaust the allowed topics of conversation, and then they're saying goodbye, always before he's ready.

Every time he gets off the phone, he has to resist the impulse to get in his car and go see her. Those are the times that he touches the outside of his pocket, to remind himself what she did while wearing this ring. It's a balance. It's the only way he knows how to process this.

He's finally figured out how to maintain the balance when she pulls the rug out from underneath him, and asks him not to call again. That she needs some space to process, that she needs to not talk to him for a while.

It infuriates him that it's suddenly all about what she needs. He has to fight against the urge to tell her that he needs something to balance out the anger, that he can't keep from hating her if he can't talk to her. But he doesn't want to admit how much he needs her, so instead, he lets her go, lets her cut him off, and lets himself be angry about it.

The anger sticks with him for a while this time, without her calls to counter it. It takes him a while to get a handle on the balance again. He doesn't need the ring as a reminder of the betrayal anymore. Without talking to her, the hate builds up by itself, so more often now, the ring is a trigger for the memories. When he touches it, or pulls it out to look at it, he allows himself to remember their moments, to hold onto the woman he fell in love with. He doesn't know any other way to deal with this.

By the time Harry calls the following week, Luke feels like his life's been thrown into limbo. He's just been waiting for news about the birth certificate, for the trip to the cabin with April, for Lorelai to come home. When Harry confirms what Luke had feared, that he'd been unable to get the birth certificate, and that most likely means Luke isn't listed as April's father, Luke is surprised by the force of his anger. After all, they'd assumed this scenario, and gone into this process expecting to need another DNA test. But the confirmation, along with all of the recent stress, pushes his simmering resentment closer to the surface, makes him less able to overlook his anger toward Anna.

Luke can hear the regret in the other man's words, and it's not the oily tone of someone who senses an opportunity, but the genuine concern of one person for another. The supportive words, though, are not enough to counteract the growing rage at being locked out of his daughter's life. Almost before he realizes what he's doing, he's in his truck driving determinedly toward Woodbridge.

Anna looks up as he walks in the door of the boutique, a friendly smile already on her face. When she sees him, her expression falls in concern.

"Luke?"

"I need to talk to you," he insists with quiet anger.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not listed on her birth certificate?"

Anna's eyes narrow, and there's suspicion in her voice. "You went looking for her birth certificate? Why?"

Luke realizes suddenly that he shouldn't be here, that fighting with Anna is what he'd been trying to avoid. Confronting her like this is most certainly an unwise move, so he answers vaguely, though his voice is still firm. "I just wanted to know. I wanted to see it."

Anna doesn't respond immediately, just stares at him, evaluating, her eyes uncertain. Before she gets a chance to question his motives, he asks, "Why?"

The question seems to catch her off-guard and she asks, "Why what?"

"Why am I not listed as her father?"

"Luke," she responds, her words taking on a calming tone that only infuriates him more. "It's complicated."

"How complicated could it be?" He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. "Were you not sure she was mine?"

Anna's eyes flash with anger. "How dare you imply that I cheated on you!"

"How dare you keep my kid from me for twelve years?" he retorts, his voice furious. He stares at her for several long moments, then looks away, his voice bitter when he goes on, "I guess that I'd rather you didn't know than that you'd thought I'd be such a horrible father you didn't want me to know my kid."

"It wasn't like that." Anna's voice is gentler now, almost understanding.

"Then what was it like?" he demands. "She's my daughter and you didn't tell me." He voice softens. "I would've-"

"You would've what?" she asks skeptically. "Asked me to marry you?"

"No," he insists, but then shrugs. "I don't know."

"You would have. Out of obligation."

"You don't know that," he snaps, annoyed at her assumptions.

She sighs, looking at him with something akin to pity, "Luke, your father had just died. You were stressed and lonely. You didn't even really want me."

"Anna," he protests.

"No, really. If your dad hadn't died, if things hadn't been so crazy for you, we would have drifted apart and you wouldn't have missed me. That's why I needed to break it off. And it was hard, because I didn't want to hurt you, but you only _thought_ you wanted me. When I found out I was pregnant, I couldn't pull you back in."

"You didn't you even want me involved?" This is the part that hurts the most – that she didn't think he had something to contribute.

"I didn't want you to do it because you had to."

"I would have wanted to," he says, his voice low and certain. "But you weren't ever going to tell me."

"I wanted to," Anna insisted, "after she was born, but you were back with Rachel and everyone thought you were going to get married and settle down." She shrugged, spreading her hands. "I didn't want to complicate things."

"And during the next _twelve_ years you couldn't find a time?" His voice rises in anger, all the questions he's been afraid to voice spilling out uncontrollably. "How could you make that decision? How could you let her go through life, not knowing me, when I live less than ten miles away? What kind of mother does that to their kid?"

"Hey," Anna says sharply, "I've taken care of April her whole life. I've given her everything, and she's thriving." She pauses for a moment, the look in her eyes icy. "You asked to be a part of her life, and I've let you. It took you two months to ask, but I've let you get to know her. And now, six months later, you come in here asking about birth certificates and throwing accusations around? You have no right to question my parenting."

"You've been questioning my parenting ever since I met April," Luke replies angrily. He takes a few deep breaths to steady his emotions before he goes on, his voice in that tremulous place between rage and sadness, "Do you have any idea what it's like to find out you have a kid and that you've already missed twelve years of her life? Her entire childhood, Anna. First words, first steps, first day of school. How could you do that to me? How could you leave me out of everything?"

"So, now it's all about what you missed?" Anna retorts.

"Of course not. I could have been there for science fairs and math contests, and helped with homework. I could have taught her things."

"Like what, Luke?" she asks, her voice self-righteous and defensive all at once. "Just exactly what has she missed out on by not knowing you?"

It's a question that would have scared him a few months ago, because he's never been sure what he has to give his daughter, but sometime in the last few weeks, his confidence has been given a little shove. So when Anna challenges him, instead of stammering and hedging, he answers evenly, "She wants me to teach her to fish. I could have taught her years ago."

Luke expects her to make a sarcastic remark about why she would ever need to know how to fish. He's waiting for it, though not with the fear he's received all of her other criticisms.

But she doesn't say a word, just stares at him as the certainty wavers in her eyes, and is gradually replaced with fear.

It's then that he gets it, starts to understand the reasons behind Anna's actions. It's not that she's worried he'll screw up. She's worried that he won't. It's a staggering realization, and knowing it makes him suddenly feel steady and grounded. It's as if he's been climbing uphill and someone has come along and leveled the earth under his feet. The sense of balance takes the heat out of his anger.

They're still watching each other, silent except for the sound of their breathing. Luke lets out one more breath and says quietly, "I don't want to fight about this. I just want to be her dad. That's all I want." He waits a long moment for her to answer him and when she doesn't he turns slowly and walks out the door.

* * *

When he comes upstairs on a Sunday afternoon a few days later and sees his message light blinking, he's surprised, because he's got his cell in his pocket and it's on. When he presses the button, he's not prepared to hear her voice. Before he knows what he's doing, his hand touches the outside of his pocket almost instinctively. In the days since she asked him to stop calling, he hasn't had to actively summon the hate. Without periodic contact, it builds up on it's own. Now though, her voice brings on a sudden surge of care and concern that he's not prepared to feel.

"Hey Luke…It's me, uh Lorelai." It kills him that she thinks she needs to clarify, as if she fallen so far off his radar that he needs a reminder. "I'm just calling…well, I'm calling because it's Father's Day, and it's your first one. Well, not really your first one, but the first one you've known you're supposed to celebrate." He has to work to swallow around the lump in his throat. He hadn't even realized what day it is, hadn't given it any thought.

"So, that's it. I was calling to wish you a Happy Father's Day. I hope you have a really good one. I want you to know…It's important that you know that I've never, for one second, begrudged you your chance to be a father, or held anything against April. She's a great kid, Luke. Really, an amazing kid. I'm so glad that she found you so that you can know what it's like to be a dad. I've always known you had it in you. I know that you've ranted about messy children and screaming babies, but I always figured that was a cover and that you'd be a great father. And I was right. April is really lucky to have you. Well, that's really why I called, so I'm going to go now. Happy Father's Day, Luke."

The message cuts out and he has to go find his calendar to confirm. Yes, it's really Father's Day. He tries not to notice that April doesn't seem to have remembered, tries to remind himself that it's a stupid holiday made-up simply for the purpose of selling cards. He should be glad that April's not caught up in all that nonsense.

Later that night, he pulls a chair up next to the answering machine, and listens to the message over and over. Lorelai's voice is unassuming and honest, and it warms him to think that she thought to do this. That in spite of her request for space, she'd wanted him to hear these words. He can't help thinking that somehow she's always known what he needs, even when he didn't know it himself.

After it's played through twice, he gives up trying to hide from the love, to push it away and for the first time in almost a month, he lets himself revel in what he feels for this woman.

_To be continued_

**Author's Note:** One of my betas pointed out, quite correctly, that in _Just Like Gwen and Gavin_, April tells Luke that her school is year-round. It's a minor thing, but I decided not to change it because (a) schools in New England don't do year-round schedules, and (b) I actually looked up the public school schedule for Woodbridge, CT to get the dates for my story, and I think this works better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, but you knew that already.

**Author's Note:** My betas are wonderful and if I weren't so tired I could say so more cleverly. **CineFille**, **Lula Bo**, **iheartbridges**, and **juststandstill**, you all rock.

* * *

"Well, I think we're ready to go with this. I need to finalize a few documents and then I should be able to file your case tomorrow," Harry says, tapping the stack of papers on the desk before sliding them into a manila folder. 

Luke gulps. "Tomorrow?"

"The sooner the better, especially since we already know that we're going to need a DNA test." Harry looks up, apparently sensing Luke's hesitation. "Are you okay with proceeding?"

Luke nods. "It just feels like a lot to dump on April. I don't want to put her in the middle of this."

"What we're doing is in large part to protect her, and to allow you to provide for her. It's not just about establishing your rights."

"I know, and I know this is important. I just…" Luke ruffles his fingers through his copies of the various documents as he tried to figure out how to explain his hesitation. "I'd like to have a chance to sit down and explain everything to her. Is it possible to hold off for a little bit?"

"Yes, but I'd encourage you not to put it off too long. This is not a simple process, so we should set the wheels in motion quickly, so that everything can be resolved for you as soon as possible."

"Well, I'm taking her to my cabin this weekend. I should be able to talk about it then."

Harry's eyebrows raise at this. "And April's mother approved the cabin trip?"

"Yes," Luke says cautiously, wondering if Harry really thinks he'd take April off without permission.

Harry gives an approving nod. "That's a good sign. Maybe she'll be more cooperative than we think."

Luke shrugs. "She wasn't too thrilled about the idea, but April had found out about the cabin and asked me to take her."

"Well then, that's a start." Harry smiles. "It's good to know that April likes spending time with you." Luke smiles, pleased by the comment, and then starts to leave, but the lawyer stops him. "Actually," Harry says, pausing for a moment, "where's the cabin?"

"Western Massachusetts."

Harry taps his fingers on the table lightly, his expression thoughtful. "Okay. Here's what you should do. Get April's mom to write a letter giving you permission to take her with you. Nothing formal, it can be handwritten. It specifically should give you permission to seek medical attention if necessary. And get April's health insurance information."

"Won't that worry Anna? Make her reconsider?"

"Quite the opposite. It will show that you're being responsible. Schools have to do it for field trips and it's actually something I advise anyone to do if their kids are staying with friends or grandparents for an extended period of time."

"It seems excessive."

Harry gives him a serious look. "She's letting you take her kid away with you."

"Our kid," Luke says sharply.

Harry meets Luke's eyes with a smile. "Exactly." He holds up the file folder. "And that's what this is all about."

* * *

Over the next week, between two visits and several phone calls, Luke and April hammer out the details of their trip. April does, in fact, invite Marcia, and Luke requests permission letters and health insurance information from both Anna and Marcia's mother. Anna writes hers out and hands it to him with a look of grudging respect. She also reluctantly agrees to let them leave Friday night instead of Saturday morning, after April expresses concern that they won't have enough time for experiments if they arrive mid-day Saturday and leave mid-afternoon on Sunday.

The whole process, between the permission notes and Anna's uneasy looks, makes him wonder what it was that had made Anna so sure he wouldn't or couldn't be a good father thirteen years ago, and what makes Lorelai so sure he can be now. The thought brings back Lorelai's answering machine message; the words have been in his head since he'd listened to them over and over a few days earlier. All week they've replayed more times that he can count, reminding him once again that Lorelai has always been one of the few people who looks hard enough to really see him. She's always been able to see the good intentions in his actions, even when his words have said otherwise.

And because of that, she's been the one person he's let himself lean on, and confide in. Until now. Until April had entered his life and he'd started leaving Lorelai out of it.

He's still not sure he can pinpoint the reason, that he can fully understand the mixture of fears and insecurities that made him choose this route. He does know that ever since Anna had first threatened to call off their arrangement, he'd been terrified about losing April. But he also knows that there's an element of pride, of him wanting to build his own confidence, and not wanting Lorelai to watch him screw up. It's taken so long for him to get comfortable, to start to think that he can actually do this father thing, he sometimes wonders if he'd still feel so unsure if he'd let Lorelai help him along the way.

There are more regrets than he can count and now all he wants to do is tell her about the trip, and let her help calm his fears about the lawsuit, and he realizes how ironic that is, considering that's all she wanted for so long. He'd taken her for granted and now she's not here when he desperately needs advice and support. When he needs _her_.

* * *

The first morning at the cabin he's surprised how eager April and Marcia are to get on the water. He's also surprised by all of the gear April has brought with her: a kit full of vials and droppers; three or four science books, and a mess of fishing line, jars, duct tape and other bits and pieces she's planning to turn into a water sample collection device. The girls spend much of the morning perfecting the contraption they'll use to collect water at different depths. Once done, they direct Luke to various locations around the lake, all the while whispering about dissolved oxygen and pH as they jot notes in April's notebook.

As he watched them work, he realizes how much he's been looking forward to this trip. He and April have spent very little time alone together. At the diner they're usually surrounded by customers, and on the field trip April had spent most of her time with friends, and for the most part, Luke has been okay with that. It's taken the pressure off of him having to think of things to talk about. Lately though, it's gotten easier to talk to her, and he's sometimes wished that there weren't other people around, poking their noses into their conversations, keeping them from really getting to know each other.

Still, the idea of being alone with April for a day and a half had been a little intimidating, so he's relived that she's brought Marcia.Her presence takes some of the pressure off of him and makes him less worried that April will be bored or regret coming on the trip, and so far they seem to be having a good time. When Luke brings the boat into dock for lunch though, both girls have yet to hold a fishing rod, and he's discouraged. He'd thought the goal was to teach April to fish. It's the part of the trip he'd been looking forward to most of all.

But as she climbs out of the boat, his daughter looks at him and asks, "We're going back out after lunch, right?"

"Sure, we can…" his voice trails off with a note of uncertainty.

"Good," she says, smiling, "because you haven't had a chance to teach us to fish yet."

He just smiles at her with relief and leads them up to the cabin. They eat quickly and head back out. After Luke shows them the basics, April and Marcia hold their poles excitedly, chattering almost continuously about possible experiments testing everything from the type of bait to the depth of the baited hook.

By the time the sun starts to dip lower in the sky, the three of them have collectively caught four fish, all of them too small to keep. Luke is a little disappointed not to be able to cook up something that they'd caught, but the girls seem to be pleased by the experience nonetheless.

After a dinner of burgers, corn on the cob and salad, Marcia picks up her book and heads for the couch and April explores the shelves full of ancient board games and puzzles. She surveys the collection with her arms crossed over her chest, then turns and looks skeptically at Luke. "I didn't know you liked puzzles."

He shrugs. "I haven't done them in a long time."

"Was it a family thing?" she asks.

"Mostly my mom and I." He walks over and gazes at the stacks of boxes, wistful at the memories. "My dad didn't have the patience. I probably haven't gotten these out since she died."

April visibly cringes at the mention of his mother, saying, "I'm sorry, we don't have to," and Luke realizes they've never talked about his parents. Based on her reaction, he assumes that Anna must have told April about them, and warned her off the topic.

"No, actually it would be…" he says with a smile, "we should do one of them."

"Which one?"

"You can choose."

April runs her fingers over the boxes, seeming to ponder the options. "There are a lot of lighthouses."

"My mom loved lighthouses."

"They're pretty." She glances back over her shoulder. "Which one do you like?"

Luke reaches past her and slides one of the boxes out of the stack and hands it to her. "How about this? It was her favorite."

April nods and heads toward the table, looking up and giving him a smile as she sets down the box.

Luke tips his head toward the couch, where Marcia is curled up with her book. "Do you think Marcia would like to join us?"

April shrugs. "Once she's started reading, she's pretty much on another plane of existence, so I'm not sure we could get her attention if we tried."

"I guess it's just us then," Luke says with a chuckle, as he sits down.

April has already dumped out the pieces and started sorting out the edges. They quickly get them sorted, and without really discussing it, Luke starts putting them together while April looks through the remaining pieces to find those that make up the base of the lighthouse. By the time he's got the border of the puzzle almost finished, she's completed a chunk of the lighthouse and they fit it together, hardly talking at all while they work.

It's the way Luke remembers doing puzzles with his mom: quietly, studiously, and often at this very table. The thought makes him stop for a moment and think that it wasn't very long ago that he'd convinced himself that this – this fatherhood thing - was never going to happen. He can't believe how natural it feels to be sitting here with April working on his mom's favorite puzzle

* * *

The next morning, Luke wakes to the sound of footsteps padding down the porch steps. He turns his head to look at the clock and sees that the hour hand has not quite reached the seven. More curious than anything, he pulls on his jeans and a flannel and walks out to the front porch. Looking down toward the lake, he can see April kneeling at the end of the dock, dropping her water-testing contraption into the lake.

He plods toward the water and she is so focused she doesn't look up at him until he's halfway down the dock.

"Hey," he says lightly.

"Hey."

"You're up early."

"Water quality can vary depending on time of day, so I wanted to get some early morning samples. I collected some here yesterday afternoon and I thought I could compare them."

"Sounds good." He points at her equipment. "Do you need any help?"

"Actually, if you could hold this here, while I write something down…"

"Sure." Sitting down, he takes the piece of string she hands him.

She makes a few notes in her book, then turns to take the string back. As she's lifting it, he asks, "So, where's Marcia?"

April answers without looking up, "She's sleeping. She's not really much of a morning person, especially after we got up pretty early yesterday." She gives him a quick glance. "I don't really understand sleeping the whole day away."

Luke can't help but smile. "Yeah, me either, but I've gotten used to getting up early."

"Yeah, I guess I have too." April pulls her collection cup from the water and pours her sample into a second cup, then labels the top with the location, time, and depth. Once done, she settles down on the dock and dangles her feet over the side.

"Don't you have any more to do?" Luke asks, gesturing toward the water.

"No, I've got three different depths, so I think that's enough."

"Okay," he says, a little uncertainly. With the water-collecting task completed, he's at a loss for conversation. He rests his hands against the dock and leans forward, watching silvery minnows dance in the water.

Her voice brings him out of his thoughts. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for bringing me. And Marcia. I know I sort of invited myself."

"That's fine. I'm just glad you wanted to come. I haven't been here in a long time."

April gives him a quizzical look. "You never brought Lorelai here?"

Luke takes a breath, and then shrugs slowly. "She's not much of an outdoor person." He glances over at April, "And I'm pretty sure that fishing wouldn't go over well."

"Yeah, but it's pretty here, and it's a nice cabin. I bet she'd like it."

He's unsettled by the way that she talks with such certainty about Lorelai. Or maybe it's just that he doesn't want to reveal how much he's been thinking about her lately. He shrugs again, unable to come up with a response.

"Are things okay with you two? Were you able to work out whatever was going on?"

He doesn't answer her for a long time, instead staring down into the water. But she's patient, and he finally says, "We're not really together right now." Saying the words out loud feels odd, sad and painful but at the same time, there's a little relief that he's admitting it after all this time they've spent apart.

"You broke up?" she responds, surprised. "But, you were engaged, right?"

He just nods.

"What happened?"

He takes a breath. "I don't know, exactly. I mean, a lot of stuff was happening, and we weren't talking."

"Why can't you talk to her now? You could work it out, right?"

"We were pretty damaged, maybe even broken already. And most of that was my fault." He pauses, working his jaw a bit. "Maybe we could have fixed it, but then she did something that sort of shattered all the pieces, "

"To get back at you? Because she was angry with you?"

He shakes his head, saying, "No, because she was hurt," and it's a revelation that he knows this with certainty. He has to stop and think about that for a moment, to live for a moment with that knowledge. But he's still not sure it's enough, because even if her motives were not cruel, it's all still too big. He lets out a breath, feeling his shoulders fall. "I just don't know if there's any way to put all the pieces together again."

Though her tone is understanding, her response is quick and direct, like she's analyzing a scientific problem or something. "Do you want to?"

He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. It's really the most important question of all, and he considers it for long moments, trying to picture his life one way or another. "I don't know," he says, his voice trailing off before he finally gives a long sigh and adds softly, "I think so." April's been so quiet as he thinks though his answer that when he tilts his head to give her a sideways glance, he's a little surprised she's still sitting here.

She just gives a little nod, and says, "Then you'll find a way." He doesn't know what to make of her confidence; it's unnerving. He tells himself that she's just a kid, and she doesn't really know how complicated it all is. But what he finds most disturbing about her assertion is that he really wishes it _were_ that simple.

The sudden lump in his throat makes him realize self-consciously how much he's revealed. In an attempt to change the subject and also because he knows he's running out of opportunities for the other conversation he and April need to have, he clasps one hand around the closed fist of his other hand, squeezing his knuckles tightly, as he says, "I have something else I need to talk to you about."

She turns her inquisitive eyes his way. "What?"

"I need to tell you…" He looks over at the expectant quirk of her smile and takes a breath, knowing her can't put it off any longer. "I went to see a lawyer…about establishing paternity."

"Okay." He's surprised by her lack of reaction; there's nothing in her voice beyond a prompt to continue.

He speaks haltingly, the whole topic uncharted territory. "A friend…Sookie…I don't think you've met her - she's really more of Lorelai's friend, but I've known her for a long time - she asked if I was legally your father. She said it mattered for stuff like wills and trusts and stuff…or if anything were to happen to your mom." Luke lifts his eyes to judge her reaction, but she simply nods.

He nods in return and continues, "So, I saw a lawyer and he tried to request a copy of your birth certificate on my behalf, and he couldn't, which means I'm not listed on it." She doesn't seem surprised by this, so he clarifies, "As your father."

"Right, there's no father listed on my birth certificate," she says matter-of-factly.

"You knew that?"

April shrugs. "That's how I got my science project idea." He can feel his eyebrows raise, and she stares down at the water, suddenly atypically shy. Her voice, when she speaks, is wistful. "I found my birth certificate a couple of years ago. Mom's never been very open with the details, so I did a little detective work. Hence the science fair project," she gestures toward him, "and you."

He nods his head up and down a few times as they both watch their feet swing slowly a few inches above the water.

"Well, I'd like to legally establish paternity." He rubs his fingers along the edge of the dock. "They'll need…The lawyer says that they'll want to do another DNA test."

"Makes sense, I guess." She cracks a smile. "It probably needs to be done by an actual certified technician. You know, one who's made it beyond the eighth grade."

He smiles, as he confirms, "But you're okay with that?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment, not because she seems uncomfortable with the idea, but rather that she's actually thinking through what it means. "Yeah," she says softly and firmly, a note of final resolve in her voice.

"There's more though," Luke says. "The other part of the lawsuit is a request for visitation rights." Her eyes narrow ever so slightly at the word 'lawsuit' and he rushes to finish. "I want you to know that I'm not trying to take you away from your mom. I wouldn't do that. I really just want to be able to keep on doing what we're doing, and this is what the lawyer says that I have to do, but I told him I wanted to talk to you first."

She smiles a little and almost looks nervous. "Are you asking permission?"

Luke shifts uncomfortably. "I don't know. Doing this, it helps me, but it also protects you. I think it's important." He stops and takes a breath, choosing his words carefully, consciously avoiding anything that might hint at the tension between himself and Anna. "I think I need to. But I wanted you to understand why."

After a moment, she responds, "I do." She pauses, cocking her head like she does sometimes when she's thinking. "What happens next?"

"The lawyer files the papers, probably as soon as I call him. Then the court will order a DNA test. He said it could take several weeks and the rest of the process can't go forward until there's proof I'm your father."

"Court-certified legal proof," April added.

"Right."

"But we already know," she says with a conspiratorial smirk. He smiles back, and feels for a moment like they're sharing a secret. She gives a casual nod and says, "You should call him."

"I will. Tomorrow."

The silence that follows their agreement is long, but more companionable as they both gaze down into the water. He wonders if, like him, she's watching the fish swirl through the water.

He's not sure how long he's been distracted by the fish, when her words break the quiet. "Luke, she didn't cheat on you, did she?"

"What?" he asks in confusion, his brow furrowing as he looks at her.

"Well that's what happens a lot when people break up, right? And you said she…" Her voice trails off and on her face he sees a strange sort of awe, as if she's pondering a scenario she's only ever seen played out on television.

He's so shocked that his daughter is asking questions essentially about his sex life that it takes him a moment to understand that she's talking about Lorelai. "Oh," he says. Apparently, April interprets the lack of an immediate denial as an answer, because a look comes over her face, realization laced with horror.

"Oh, I'm sorry Luke. She really cheated on you?" He can hear the disbelief in her voice, and as she continues, the disgust. "I can't believe she'd do that to you. You were engaged!"

It's the protective tone in her voice more than anything, the way that she's jumped so quickly to his defense, that makes him feel a sudden,ironic need to defend Lorelai, or at least to make April understand the full reality of the situation.

Looking down into water, Luke taps his fingers soundlessly on the dock. "Is it cheating if she thought I didn't want to marry her anymore? If she thought we were over?"

April tilts her head to the side and looks at him, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why would she think that?

Luke ducks his head as he responds, "Because I'm an idiot."

April shakes her head and then asks tentatively, "Was it because of me?"

"What? No!" he insists.

"But that's when it happened, right? After I showed up?" Her questions are asked in that matter-of-fact tone she takes on when she's trying to figure something out, but her expression is sympathetic, almost apologetic, and he can't bear to have her thinking she's responsible for this.

"A lot happened after you showed up, but no,it wasn't because of you," he says again, firmly. "Whatever happens," he shakes his head against false hope, "or doesn't happen, you have to know that this isn't because of you. It's because of me, letting her think I didn't care about her, and that I didn't want to get married."

"But it was because you were spending time with me, right?" she reasons, as if that's a completely acceptable explanation. "I can see why she'd be upset with me showing up out of the blue like that."

"No," he says, looking directly at her for emphasis, "it wasn't like that. She really wanted to get to know you, wanted to be a part of that, but…well, I already said I was an idiot."

"It was a pretty big thing to find out," April offers.

"Yeah, well, I could have done it better." She starts to protest, but Luke stops her. "It's just really important that you understand that none of this is about Lorelai resenting you or something." He holds her gaze until she gives a small nod, and then he goes on. "She really likes you. She called on Father's Day just to say how great you were and how lucky I-"

"Oh no!" April lets out a horrified gasp. "I missed Father's Day. How could I miss my first one? Oh Luke, I'm so sorry."

Luke hangs his head at the thought of her feeling guilty. "It's okay. It's a stupid holiday, just made up to sell cards."

April gives a wry grin. "That may be, but I should have done something." She goes on, her tone earnest, "I'm going to make it up to you, I promise."

"No, you don't have to. It's fine. I wouldn't have even realized it…"

"Except that Lorelai called you," April points out meaningfully.

"Yeah," Luke says with a sigh, remembering again the words on the answering machine.

A long moment passes and he looks up to find April studying him. He shrugs and she gives him an encouraging smile. "I think you can find a way to work things out." After a beat, she adds, "If you decide you want to."

And that really is the crux of the issue, he thinks later. Can he get over this? Can _they_? And does he want to?

The questions repeat themselves over and over in his mind throughout the rest of the week. In among the other realities of his life – calling Harry to set the lawsuit in motion, talking about the fishing trip during April's visits to the diner, adjusting the schedules at the diner to account for summer schedules – the questions nag at him.

He doesn't know the answers and he doesn't know what it means that he can't get Lorelai out of his head, that he finds himself counting the days, and then the hours, until her return.

_To be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **If they were mine, she wouldn't be kissing anyone but Luke.

**Author's Note: Lula Bo **and** CineFille **are the awesomest. Truly.

* * *

He knows she's home, and not just because it's July 1st and that's when she said she'd return. He can tell because of the furtive glances he's been getting in the diner and the more-than-typical amount of whispering.

From the furrowed brows and questioning expressions, he thinks that they're wondering what's going on with him and Lorelai. He knows that _he_ is wondering what's going on. It seems safe to assume that they're broken up. She did go to Christopher; that's certainly worthy of ending a relationship. And she gave back the ring.

It all sounds so cut and dried, and it would be easy to say that they're done because she did something unforgivable. But he knows it's not that simple, and after talking with April on the fishing trip he's pretty sure that he doesn't want it to be that simple.

It's driving him crazy to run it around over and over in his head. It's literally muddling his mind to the point that he's forgetting things and botching orders, and by the time she's been back three days, even easy-going Caesar is sighing under his breath and flashing frustrated glances his way. After the majority of the dinner crowd has been served and everything is under control, Luke mumbles to Caesar that he's going out for a while, throws together some slices of pie and coffee, and slips out the back.

The Lorelai who answers her door is muted, colorless. There's weariness in the set of her shoulders and a hollow look in her eyes. His first reaction upon seeing her is compassion, but in a sudden, unexpected rush of anger, he hates that it's the first thing he feels. Looking at her standing in front of him brings back all of the contradicting emotions: the resentment, fear and hate he thought had diminished, and the concern, hope, and love he's been reluctant to fully acknowledge.

He notices her make an almost imperceptible grimace of pain before she covers it with a mask of neutrality. Neither of them has spoken and he doesn't realize how long they've been standing like that until she says simply, "Luke."

There's no curiosity, no expectation, just acknowledgement, and he's so unnerved by her familiar, yet unfamiliar presence in front of him that he just thrusts the cup he's holding toward her. "Coffee."

She nods and accepts the cup, wrapping both hands around it and holding it close to her chest. He stands, watching the steam curl out of the lid before feeling the weight of the bag in his other hand. "And pie," he says, offering her the bag.

She takes it, glancing back and forth between her hands before looking up at him, her nose quirked up and her face crinkled in confusion. "Why?"

"You've been back three days."

The creases in her brow deepen, and he continues, by way of explanation, "And you haven't been to the diner."

"But you don't have to do this," she insists quietly. "You don't owe me anything."

"I'm not…it's not." He hesitates, suddenly irritated that she's rejecting even this. "It's just a cup of coffee," he says gruffly, at least in part because he doesn't want to explain. He doesn't have an explanation for why he's here and he's annoyed that she's pushing him on it. "What? I'm still not allowed to talk to you? Who says you get to make the rules?" he asks bitterly, looking up and this time seeing not the broken woman who answered the door, but the one who hurt him so cruelly. "I shouldn't even _want_ to talk to you."

Lorelai's mouth falls open slightly, as if in surprise, and he can hear hurt and confusion in her voice. "So why _did_ you come?" She lifts up her hands, still holding the coffee and pie. "To give me dessert and then tell me how horrible I am? I don't understand what you want."

He takes in a breath, working his jaw as he tries to come up with an appropriate retort, something that will convey his full frustration. But she's looking at him with such frank uncertainty, that he can only sigh as his shoulders fall in defeat. "I want to go back. I want you not to have slept with Christopher. I want to stop feeling like I should hate you."

She closes her eyes and he can hear the pain and regret in her voice. "But I did and you do and I can't change that. No matter how much I want to."

He shakes his head in frustration. "Why do you think that?"

"What?"

He swallows hard, forcing the words out, "That I hate you."

"Don't you?" she asks, as if she hasn't understood him. "How could you not? I slept with him. I slept with Christopher."

"Stop saying that," he insists. "It's not just about that. There's other stuff that happened. It's not just about that."

"Isn't it?" She looks up at him, her eyes clear blue and sad. "I couldn't – if I'd sat down and planned it out – I couldn't have come up with something that would hurt you more."

A sudden pressure squeezes Luke's chest and he has to push back against it to allow air into his lungs. He takes a step back to regain control of his breathing before he responds, and when he does, his voice is rough. "Is that why you-"

"No," she says, jerking her head back and forth emphatically.

There's one more question that he needs to ask, though the fear of it makes his mouth go dry and the words come out thickly. "Do you want to be with him?"

Her voice is softer this time, "No, Luke. No."

"Then why?" he asks without thinking. He can see her take a deep breath and start to answer, but he interrupts before she can respond. "You know what? I don't want to know. I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"I don't either." She sighs heavily, squeezing her eyes closed. When she opens them, her expression is pained. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't about me wanting him instead of you."

"Really? Isn't that what it usually means when you sleep with someone else?" He'd intended the words as an attack, but even as he says them, he knows they're not true, and the truth of that takes the sting out of his voice.

Lorelai gives him a helpless look. "I know it must seem like that…"

"I don't," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"I don't hate you. I think I did." He lets out a long huff of breath. "I know I did, but even when I hated you I loved you." He closes his eyes, reaching a hand up to rub his temples, in an attempt to stave off the blinding confusion. "God, Lorelai. I don't…I mean, you're just standing there and I can't let go of you, but I can't forget either, and," he throws his arms down in agitation, "I don't know whether to push you against the wall and kiss you, or walk out the door and never talk to you again."

He watches her duck her head and clinch her hands tightly at her side, as if she's bracing herself, though against what he's not sure. Her shoulders rise as she takes a breath and when she speaks he can see the effort it's taking her to hold her voice steady. "Are those really the only two choices?" Her posture reveals a hardness he's not seen before in her – a new level of strength that doesn't seem to be a façade.

He stares down at his feet for a moment, then shrugs. "No, but I tried to give you coffee…"

She lifts her head and gives a forced chuckle. "And I shot down the messengers." Lifting the coffee and pie, she stage-whispers, "Sorry, guys." He can't help but let out a glimmer of a smile, but she seems to think better of the moment of levity and says seriously, "I'm sorry. Luke."

"No, I'm sorry. For snapping…"

"It's okay," she says, giving a dismissive wave with the hand that's holding the bag. "I do appreciate this – the coffee, pie." She pauses, as if considering her words, then adds, "I've missed it."

The words warm him and he says sincerely, "There's always coffee for you at the diner."

The invitation hangs there for a moment, while Lorelai bites on the side of her lip like she does sometimes when she's unsure. Finally, she gives a little nod.

"Well, I'm…uh," he points backwards with his thumb, "I'm gonna go. I'll see you."

She nods again. "Okay," she says slowly and a touch reluctantly as he turns and walks down the porch stairs.

Crossing the yard, he jams his hands in his pockets and ducks his chin toward his chest as he tries to figure out what to make of the encounter. He hadn't been prepared for the rush of feeling brought on by simply seeing her, by hearing the pain and sadness in her words. Having her confront the issues, and put names to his feelings makes it harder to deny the anger and frustration. He'd thought that the dark and bitter emotions he'd been feeling had begun to fade, but having them make their presence known so forcefully has shaken him, making him wonder if he's kidding himself when he tries to see a way back to Lorelai.

* * *

It takes four days for her to come to the diner. Four days of waiting and wondering. Four days that try his patience. By the time she does walk in and settle herself hesitantly at one of the tables, he'd managed to convince himself that she'd given up on even the coffee. He's carrying a tray of clean dishes when she walks in. That, combined with the shock of actually seeing her here, in the diner, makes him unable to do anything other than nod. He wonders how intentional it is that she's chosen a particularly quiet mid-morning time and a table away from the counter.

They don't exchange many words – just a few polite pleasantries. He asks about Rory and when she responds with an inquiry about April he mentions the trip to the cabin and April's upcoming trip to visit her grandparents. Except for the call on Father's Day, it's the first time Lorelai has mentioned April since Luke had made the trip to Vermont. He's not sure why they haven't talked about her – if it's because one or both of them is specifically avoiding the topic, or if it's just habit, now, not to talk about April.

After a short time, they've run out of small talk. He doesn't know what to say or how to say it, and he's already refilled her coffee, so he plates a cherry danish, wordlessly setting it on her table and sliding it toward her. He's back at the counter when he hears her say, "It's not Danish day." He just shrugs in response, and she looks away shyly.

Neither of them says anything else and after a quick trip to the storeroom to get some supplies, he returns to find her seat empty and a few dollar bills on the table, more than enough to cover the cost of the danish and coffee. He holds the bills for a moment before slipping them into the register, trying to remember the last time he'd let her pay for anything at the diner.

Over the next several days, Lorelai comes in a few times, always sitting at a table, always slipping out while he's busy, and always leaving money on the table. It's almost routine and he feels like her being here should feel more momentous. Even the townspeople seem to be holding back a response, as if collectively worried about jinxing something, though he's not sure they've established anything enough to jinx it.

Luke finds himself wanting to sit down and join her, to talk to her about more than Paul Anka or the inn. To really confide in her about what he's feeling, to tell her how afraid he is of suing Anna and how frustrating it is to wait for paperwork to be filed and DNA tests to be run.

But they're not there yet, and he's not sure when, or if, they will be. So he resigns himself to more waiting and more meaningless talk, until one night when she stops by while April is still visiting, and he sees an opportunity to move forward.

It's after the dinner rush has slowed, but not late enough to be reminiscent of the late nights when the diner was closed to everyone else, but he'd left the coffee on just for her.

As she steps inside, her eyes flicker around the diner before they settle on April. He can see her freeze, and start to turn back around.

"Lorelai," he calls.

"Lorelai?" April asks, turning toward the door, where Lorelai stands looking stunned and uncertain. He gestures with his head, inviting her to sit at the counter, and she gives both of them a weak smile as she heads over toward them.

Luke is smiling at the two of them in nervous anticipation when April throws him a questioning glance, and he realizes suddenly that he'd gotten so wrapped up in the idea of Lorelai being here that he'd forgotten that he and April haven't talked about Lorelai since the fishing trip. That he'd carelessly allowed April to walk around knowing what Lorelai did to hurt him without talking further about what it means. It feels unfair to both of them to throw them together without discussing with April how she feels about seeing Lorelai again. He's still stunned, wondering how to negotiate this when April starts talking, her voice friendly and animated.

"Hey," she says. "It's good to see you. Luke said you were back from your trip, but I haven't seen you since…" She tilts her head to the side, looking thoughtful, "Since my party, actually, which my friends have been talking about ever since, by the way." Looking quickly at her watch, she says, "I'm glad you stopped by when you did. My mom is going to be here in a few minutes to pick me up."

"It's really good to see you again too, April," Lorelai says with genuine warmth, though she still looks uneasy. "Luke's been filling me in a little bit about what you've been doing and it sounds like you're keeping busy, and keeping your dad busy too."

"Yeah, I've got a bunch of stuff going on." Her smile widens. "Hey, did he tell you about the fishing trip?" Luke watches Lorelai nod encouragingly and listens to his daughter continue. "Next time, I really want to catch one big enough to cook. I think I found a pattern with the dissolved oxygen and time of day, and if I plot it out I might be able to figure out where the biggest fish are, but we weren't able to stay long enough this time to test it out."

Luke can't help but beam proudly at April's excitement, and when Lorelai asks, "Next time, huh? So you have another trip planned out?" and glances over at him, he flashes her a private smile.

She smiles back, but her expression is tentative, and there's something undefinable in her eyes. He barely has a chance to register it before April responds to her question. "Maybe at the end of the summer. Hopefully by then we'll be official, right Luke?"

April glances up at him and he nods. "Maybe."

"Official?" Lorelai asks.

April explains matter-of-factly, gesturing with her hands. "We just had new court-ordered DNA tests, so that Luke can legally be my father. We're still waiting on the results, but it's really a formality. I mean, the judge might be particular about who does the test, but the DNA doesn't care that I don't have a graduate degree."

Lorelai gives a little chuckle, but before she has a chance to say anything, April jumps up. "Oh, my mom is here," she says, tossing books in her backpack and zipping it up. "Bye Luke. Bye Lorelai. I'm glad you're back," she calls over her shoulder on her way out of the diner.

The door falls shut after April and Lorelai watches for a moment before turning back toward Luke, "So, DNA tests? Does that mean…?"

"I'm just trying to establish paternity and set up some visitation rights." Luke sweeps the rag he's holding across the counter and attempts to keep his voice casual and confident. As much as he's wanted someone to talk to about the lawsuit, he's still reluctant to admit how much the process worries him.

"That sounds good, " Lorelai responds neutrally.

"Yeah. It's probably about time. Hey so," he says, looking up at her with a hesitant smile, "It was good you came by now. April was really happy to see you."

"It was good to see her too."

Dropping his eyes, Luke spreads his fingers wide across the counter. "Maybe you can," he starts, stopping to take a breath before continuing quietly, "come back the next time she's here."

She stares back at him, looking drained. "Luke…" she says plaintively, her head falling forward into her hands as she shakes it slowly back and forth. "I can't. I can't do this. I mean, how can you do this?"

He jerks his head up, shocked and confused. "What? How can I do what?"

"You can't make it okay now. Not after everything."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, unable to hide his complete bewilderment.

"It's okay for me to hang out with April now? Now that we're broken up? It wasn't before but now it is? Do you even know how much…I just," she shakes her head again, and gets up to leave. "I can't do this."

She's halfway to the door before Luke can spit out, "Lorelai wait!" and follow her. He takes a few more steps and says again, "Please? Wait!"

His request stills her, though she won't turn to face him. "What do you want from me?" she asks, her voice low and steady.

"Can we at least talk about this?" he pleads impatiently.

"What's there to talk about?

"A lot, obviously. I'm just trying to make things better." He watches her gaze glide over the few remaining patrons, some tourists who seem to be politely averting their eyes, and he repeats softly, "Can we talk? Upstairs maybe?"

She lifts one shoulder in an ambivalent shrug and lets him lead the way upstairs.

He silently gestures her inside the apartment. Stopping a few steps inside, she glances around as if just realizing how long it's been since she's been up here. She hugs her arms around her middle, and even from behind her, he can see the rigidity in the knuckles where her fingers grip her elbows.

For a moment, he just stands watching the slight shifts of her body as she takes in breath.

She turns to face him, her shoulders hunched over her crossed arms in a gesture that is at once defensive and combative. "You can't just dangle it out there now, Luke, can't just expect me to act like there's nothing wrong. I don't even know…does she know? Does she know we broke up?"

"She knows we were having problems, that we weren't talking. She knows that you went to consult in Vermont." His voice softens. "She's been asking about you. Ever since the party-"

"No," she says, her arms swinging down as her stiffness gives way to agitation. "I am not doing this. We can't go back there. Months. Luke. Months you went, first without telling me about her at all and then not introducing her to me. I was your fiancée. We were getting married, and you wouldn't even introduce us. Can you even begin to imagine what that felt like?"

Biting and accusatory, her words set him on the defensive, and his response is low and even. "I might have if you'd told me."

"Told you? Seriously?" She stares back at him, incredulous. "I spent months waiting for anything that felt like the slightest invitation, but all I got were rules about when I could come to the diner, little pats on the back for being the good little fiancée who's not too nosy – who understands that you need time. I _told_ you I was worried that we weren't going to get married. We talked about that, and then _nothing_ changed."

"I didn't know," he insists sullenly. "You should have told me."

"And you've always responded so well to criticism," she snaps sarcastically. "You've never given me any reason to think that you'd get angry if I got in your business." She lets out a great frustrated sigh. "Dammit Luke, you can hate me as much as you want about Christopher. That…I deserve that. But for trying to give you space? For doing what I thought you wanted. You can't get mad at me for that."

"Look," he argues, "you made a whole drunken speech in public, to the town, and you hid it from me. You told everyone else what you were feeling except me. I had to lean on Kirk to find out what you were talking about. You lied to me. You let other people lie to me."

She snorts, her expression full of contempt. "You're upset that I lied about singing a song? You hid your daughter from me for two months. You know what, Luke? You're right. I lied and you know why? I thought I was doing the good and patient thing. Patty told me you'd come around. That everyone knew that if I just waited a little longer, I'd eventually get you to the alter. Well, you know what? Everyone was full of shit."

The sharpness of her words stings, but it's the intensity of her anger that makes him realize how long it's been since he's truly felt it. It's almost a relief to finally hear it, everything she's been holding in. He tries to remember the last time they'd fought, really fought, to the point that she didn't back down. And what he realizes is that it hasn't happened since they've been together. The two of them are legendary for their ability to fight, and hold grudges, before slowly and painfully reconciling. They've done it over and over throughout the years; so much so it's almost second nature. And yet, he can't remember a time since they began dating that they've fought like that, when Lorelai hasn't let her anger fade before the quarrel got too heated. It's a frightening thought, and all he can do is wonder what it means that she's not backing down now, that she's still flinging words at him, without concern about what they hit.

"I mean, what the hell did any of them know? You weren't hiding April from any of them, just me. Everyone, everyone else got to meet her: Lane, Patty, Babette, Jess, _Rory_. God Luke, even Rory."

"Lorelai," he starts, reaching for her arm, in an attempt at comfort.

She just shakes him off, continuing unabated, "When we went shopping and I said I wanted to meet April and I offered to help with her gift, you…I thought maybe you'd just been clueless, that you didn't realize how much you'd been leaving me out of things. But then you said that, called me a cartoon character, and said she'd like me better, as if I'd actually try to take her away from you. And then I knew that it had all been intentional, that you were deliberately keeping me away from her. That just…Luke…I can't really tell you how much that hurt. I just can't. And it scared me, because if you still, after all those months, didn't want me near her, I couldn't really imagine when you would."

She's starting to lose the fire that's fueling her anger. He can hear the sadness, the ache of pain creeping into her words, the tremor of hurt in her voice.

"And then you called me to help with the party, and it was so out of the blue. After what you'd said, I should have been furious. How dare you tell me I'm too 'whatever' to meet your daughter, and then call me and demand that I come help you. How dare you!"

She'd fairly spit out the last words at him, but now her voice is simply bitter. "But by that time, I'd take any little bone you'd throw me, so I did the best I could to help you throw April a fabulous party, to show that I could help you with this and that I wanted to help you. And it was good, and it was finally feeling like you actually wanted me there and that maybe things would change. So maybe waiting and being patient had been the right thing to do. But then Anna was angry, because of me. And the way that you told me…" Her voice starts to break, though she seems to be straining to hold it together. "It made me feel like you thought I was a problem too, like you were mad at me for complicating everything. So I went to Anna to try to explain and she said engaged wasn't enough. She didn't want me around April until we were married. And then I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to make it better."

Luke protests, "You didn't even _talk_ to me. You didn't give me a chance to work it out, Lorelai. You just avoided me." He lifts an arm in frustration, his voice rising as he repeats, "Avoided me!"

She closes her eyes, wrinkling her nose and tightening her lips, as if even just the thought of what they'd been through causes her physical pain. "I was just so scared that the next time I saw you would be when you decided that you couldn't risk losing your daughter over me."

The sadness in her voice is so intense he can hardly get out words. "How can you think that?" he breathes.

"I don't know if you understand how hard it was to believe in our relationship by then. We were falling apart and it didn't even seem like you noticed." She's no longer maintaining the pretense of composure, though she's brushing away the tears with the back of her hand before they can slip down her cheeks.

Looking at her, wrecked and heartbroken, all he can say is, "I'm such an idiot."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Did you really not know? Did you really think that everything was fine?"

"I didn't know how bad it was." Though he's being honest, it feels completely insufficient in response to what she's told him, especially given how true it sounds when he hears the words.

"I just felt trapped – like there was nothing I could do. She's your _kid_, Luke. There was nothing for me to say. I can't come between you and your kid. All I knew was that you were slipping away."

Her voice is breaking and he can tell how much she's fighting the sobs, can see that she's far more hurt than angry. He reaches for her elbow and tugs her closer, feeling the moment when her resolve falters and she lets herself be pulled into his embrace, resting her head against his chest. With his lips close to her ear, he whispers, "I'm sorry I ever made you think I didn't want you in my life. I don't know what more to say. "I'm just…I'm so sorry." He runs one hand down her back and uses the other to push the hair from her face, his fingers brushing along her cheek as he reaches to tuck a strand behind her ear. The comforting gestures are instinctual, he realizes, as is the gentle kiss he places on her forehead.

She looks up at that, her eyes wide with doubt. When he brushes the back of his fingers across her face again and her lip trembles, he doesn't even try to fight the urge to kiss her fear and sadness away.

When his lips meet hers, she lets out a little whimper as she gives into it. Kissing her feels like coming home and his immediate reaction is that if they can still feel this, they can figure the rest out. The thought gives him permission to hope, to want. To want to feel the skin of her neck under his lips, the curves of her body against his chest, and curls of her hair tangled in his fingers. He wraps his arms tightly around her and trails kisses along her jaw, hearing her moan in response. Without warning, she pulls away, sidestepping toward the door, "No, no, no, I can't do this."

"Why?"

She turns to face him. "We can't just kiss everything away. It doesn't change anything."

"Don't you even want to try? Do you really want to give up?" He can't understand how she could have shared the same kiss he did and still want to throw it all away.

"No, I don't want to, but you still look at me like you can't believe I did such a horrible thing to you and like you can't figure out why you don't hate me. As much as I want to go back, to have you back, I can't go through all that again – wondering when you're going to realize that you don't want to be with me anymore."

"That's not-" He falters, wanting to tell her that she's being ridiculous, that of course he wants to be with her. But she's not saying anything different from what he's been telling himself, and telling her, all along. She's resigned herself to that, to not having him back, and his response is a protest against that resignation. "That's not how I feel."

She turns to rest her hand on the doorknob, turning it and pulling the door ajar, without making any move to leave. "It may not be how you want to feel, but it's there, Luke, and maybe that means that this is too big to fix."

"I don't want that to be true." It's the first time he's said that out loud with such certainty, admitted that he wants to fix things. "I want to try."

"I just don't know how to get over this."

"Are you willing to consider the possibility that we can?"

"I don't know, Luke. I don't know." She rests her forehead briefly on the edge of the door before stepping out and pulling it closed behind her.

As he hears the door click closed, he tries to take solace in the fact that she didn't say no.

_To be continued_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** If only they were mine…

**Author's Notes:** I owe my betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, **juststandstill**, and **Lula Bo** huge thanks for their comments on this chapter. There's a bunch of stuff that's in here on their suggestion, including a whole scene I wrote a long time ago after **CineFille** made me feel guilty for having April forget Father's Day.

Also, when I originally planned this series, I was trying to make each story stand on its own and not be too dependent on the other stories in the series. I haven't done as good a job with that as I had hoped, and in particular, this chapter will make more sense if you've read the most recent chapter of _Empty_ (chapter 5).

* * *

In the aftermath of his fight with Lorelai, Luke has no idea where they stand, or what to do even if he did know. He's not surprised that she avoids the diner and since he's at a loss for how to approach her he decides to give her some space.

In the meantime, he knows he needs to talk to April – he can't leave her with what she knows without processing it a bit with her. He doesn't know exactly _what_ to say, just that he needs to say something, so the next time April visits the diner he sits down with her during a quiet moment. She looks surprised, but not alarmed, as she sits waiting for him to start speaking.

He takes in and lets out a few breaths, then starts, "I realized that we haven't really talked since the fishing trip." He pauses, watching for her reaction and when he sees her furrowed brow, he clarifies, "About Lorelai."

She still looks confused, so he goes on, "I just…it wasn't fair for me to tell you that, about what happened."

"Well," she reasons, "technically you _didn't_ tell me."

"I know," he sighs, "but it still doesn't seem fair."

"To Lorelai?"

"Yeah." He nods, then says slowly, "And to you."

"To me?" She sounds surprised.

"It doesn't seem fair that you have to know about that, or worry about it."

"Are you worried that I'll think badly of her?"

He is. He really, really is, but he can't tell her what to think and he can't erase what she already knows. He grips the countertop and watches the tips of his fingers whiten. "I just don't want you to think you have to on my account."

"I don't." She pauses. "I mean, she hurt you and I don't really want to think about that…" Her voice trails off and she grimaces.

That's what makes him feel worst of all, that she has the same image in her mind that's been torturing him. He says sadly, "This is what you shouldn't have to worry about."

"The thing is, though, it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."

"It does matter what you think," he insists.

She regards him thoughtfully. "Are you asking if I mind if you two get back together?" He jerks his head up in surprise and meets her eyes. She's so direct sometimes that it catches him off-guard.

"No," he says quickly.

"You're not?" She sounds almost disappointed.

"I don't know," he confesses. "I don't know what's going on."

"You should do what you want to do. Don't worry about me." She gives a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, if it weren't for me, none of this probably would have happened."

"April, no!" Her guilt cuts him deeply, even more so for the matter-of-fact way that she states it. "Lorelai and I are grown-ups. We're responsible for anything that happened. This isn't about you."

"But-"

"No. It's not your fault, April," he insists.

"But-" she starts, then pauses when he starts shaking his head, "Just let me finish, okay? Then you can argue with me." She gives him a teasing grin. "

He gives a small nod and says slowly, "Okay."

"Whatever happened with you guys – I'm not saying it's my fault, but you can't tell me that everything would have been the same if I hadn't found you." He opens his mouth to protest, but she holds up her hand to stop him. "We learned about catalysts in my science class. They make chemical reactions happen faster, more…uh…violently." She stumbles as she searches for the right words and he's touched at the way she's trying so hard to explain what she means. "It might be like that. Maybe there would have been a reaction or something anyway, but it probably wouldn't have been as dramatic." She picks up her soda to take a drink and traces her fingers through the ring of condensation left on the countertop, then lifts her shoulders in a quick shrug. "So, it wasn't because of the catalyst, but it still affected the reaction."

Luke lets out a defeated sigh, because he doesn't have a counter-argument. She might be right about the whole catalyst thing, and the thought is deeply disturbing. Working his jaw, he watches her for a moment, before saying, "Just so long as the catalyst recognizes that none of this could have happened if there wasn't some sort of potential reaction waiting to happen. Do you understand?" It comes out more stern than he intends and her eyes widen at the emphasis.

"Message received," she says with a small smile.

He gives her a sheepish look. "Sorry."

April shrugs again, lifting an eyebrow. "You feel strongly about that."

He nods. "Very."

"You know…" she begins. He eyes her suspiciously and the corners of her mouth turn up in response. "The other thing about catalysts is that they aren't a part of the reaction. All they do is make it happen faster, but the reaction goes ahead on it's own." He gives her a questioning look, not quite understanding what she's trying to say. She pauses, as if she's trying to put her thoughts into words, but then she abandons the subtext altogether. "Whatever happens with you and Lorelai, you don't need to worry about me. I'm not a part of it."

He frowns slightly. "But you're a part of my life. Of course it involves you."

She lets out an impatient huff of breath, and gives a small shake of her head, "Well, this part of your life is telling you that if you can get over whatever happened, so can I. Okay?"

"Okay," he says, relenting. They sit for another moment, until the silence starts to be uncomfortable, and Luke points to her soda. "You want more?"

"Sure," she says, but when he starts to get up, she stops him. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know, I like Lorelai."

Damned if she wasn't going and giving her blessing after all.

It's all well and good, he thinks as he refills April's soda, but after his fight with Lorelai, he's not sure it matters what he or April think. Even if he was ready for some kind of reconciliation, Lorelai seems determined not to consider the possibility and the thing is, when he is honest with himself, when he stops and looks inside himself, he can see all the anger and resentment that she sees, and he wonders if she's right.

* * *

He's prepared himself to wait Lorelai out, to give her the days, or weeks even, that she needs. He's surprised then, when only a couple of days later she's back in the diner, on April's invitation. He can see how hesitant she is. It's in every nervous glance she gives him and in the way she keeps biting her lower lip.

At the same time though, he can tell she's warming to April, and when April invites her back to have dinner he can see that her uncertainty is fighting with her desire to spend time with his daughter.

Over the next week, Lorelai comes in more regularly, most often for quick coffee stops, but a couple of times she meets April for dinner. It feels a little like a cop-out, to allow his daughter to be the one to draw Lorelai back. In truth, he's relieved April's been so enthusiastic about seeing Lorelai; it's been the easiest way to deal with his conflicting emotions. He'd feel worse about the whole situation if he thought April was doing it for him, but it honestly seems like she's enjoying herself, that they're both enjoying being together, in fact.

They've found a rapport so quickly and easily that he has to wonder why that doesn't bother him. It should bother him, he thinks. After all, it's one of the reasons that he kept Lorelai and April apart for so long - that fear that April would fall in love with Lorelai. And now that she looks to be crazy about her, he can't figure out why it doesn't threaten him. It really doesn't though, and even more than that, he's moved by the way that Lorelai seems to care about April. Watching her look at his daughter in awe stirs the fatherly pride he's only started to recognize, and the feeling reminds him of what he's seen in Lorelai's eyes when Rory has been the subject of that kind of admiration.

As he looks at them, it reminds him that one of the things that made him fall in love with Lorelai was watching her with her own daughter.

And now, Lorelai is sitting at the counter talking to April, probably about that ridiculous reality fashion show, but she's laughing, truly laughing, like he hasn't seen in a long time. Even at April's birthday party her laughter wasn't this free. The sound makes him stop what he's doing and watch, resting his weight on the counter, palms pressed flat against the cool laminate. It means something that she's opening herself up to his daughter, that she's letting April see the real her, seemingly without any expectation. Even he hasn't had this unguarded a glimpse of her in a long time.

As he gazes over at them, he has a sudden rush of feeling and he knows that all that matters is that he loves her. He loves her enough to forgive and too much to give up on. He's spent so long trying to figure out how to deal with his anger and resentment, hoping they would fade away, but he realizes that it's not about waiting for those feelings to go away, but about deciding that the love is more important. And watching Lorelai with April – his daughter and the woman he loves – like it should have been from the start, makes it even easier to let the love consume him the way he'd let the hate take over before. The thought makes him smile and when she glances at him she returns it shyly. The moment is brief though; soon her lips quirk self-consciously and she looks down where her fingers are curled around her coffee cup. Her conversation with April continues and it's lively enough, but the ease is gone.

Luke picks up the coffeepot and walks over to refill her cup, giving her an encouraging smile. She looks nervous and he knows she's still hesitant about spending time with April, still wonders every time she's here if it's okay to talk to his daughter. Luke doesn't know what more to do to reassure her, and given how cautious she's been about just being here, he doesn't want to push. And so, he's let April take the weight of the relationship. Now though, he knows he's ready for more – ready to truly try to work it out.

Because of that, when April invites Lorelai to join them for a movie, even though he feels a tiny stab of disappointment about not having April to himself for the night, he finds he's really glad she initiated it. Sitting with April and Lorelai, sandwiched between the two people in the world most important to him, there are moments it feels right, perfect, like it might have been all along, if he'd allowed it. He thinks she feels it too, enough so that her uncertainty fades long enough for her to ask what they're doing, and what it means.

He can see how confused and fearful she is, and it might be the moment to say something, to try to tell her what he's feeling, but they're interrupted, and the opportunity is lost. When he sees her put up the emotional walls again, he's hit with a sucker punch of regret for not answering her question directly. When she'd asked what the two of them were now, he wishes he'd told her what he's realized - that he loves her and wants to be with her – instead of shying away from the question. He wishes that he'd been the one to tell her for once how he feels, instead of waiting to see what it is that she wants. Once the movie ends and she says her goodbyes quickly, he realizes that she'd tried to put herself out there and without a signal from him, she'd withdrawn again.

It isn't a complete withdrawal this time, but with April essentially gone on her trip already, he can't depend on her presence to bring Lorelai to him, so he knows it's up to him to make a move. Over the next couple of days, she still stops in for coffee or a quick meal, but she doesn't stay long, so it's not until late afternoon on Friday that he's able to catch her long enough for more than the most minimal exchange. Long enough for her to tell him how much she's dreading having dinner with her parents, and without Rory.

When she agrees to stop by after the dinner and then doesn't, its not just because he's worried that he goes to see her. It's also because he's finally decided to do something and he wants to follow through on that promise to himself.

She opens her door at his knock, freezing for just a moment, her mouth partly open, before she breathes out, "Hi." She's dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, but he can see remnants of tear tracks on her cheeks, spidery veins of red in her eyes, and defeat in the set of her shoulders.

She's so obviously upset that he forgets to speak for a moment, and when he does, his words are a halting explanation of his presence at her door. "You didn't…you said you'd come by the diner. You said you'd probably need to complain."

"Well yeah, because the Friday Night Dinner experience wouldn't be complete without Richard and Emily expressing their undying disappointment in their only spawn."

She's joking, brushing it off, but this time he doesn't play along. "Are you okay," he asks, concerned.

"Oh, I'm fine," she says, waving her arm dismissively. "I've had it easy, you know, with them being away. I've gotten out of practice, so actually, it's good they're back now. Wouldn't want me going soft. So it's fine. I'm dealing with it." Her voice is bright, but he can hear the vulnerability she's covering.

"Tell me about it. That's what I'm here for, " he says softly, reaching out tentatively to touch her arm.

"Seriously, Luke, you don't want to hear about this."

"I told you I'd listen. I invited you to the diner because I wanted to listen." He gestures toward her. "When you didn't come I was worried about you."

Pressing her lips together, looking suddenly determined, she responds, "I know. I'm sorry if you waited for me. I just…couldn't come there."

There's something so fiercely decisive in her words that it catches him by surprise and he asks, "What's going on?"

He reaches out, intending to tug her close, to get her to look him in the eye, but he's not sure she notices, because she turns and steps slowly away from him, giving a humorless laugh. "I had to tell my parents about yet another broken engagement."

It's physical, the stab of guilt that hits him. "Lorelai…" He wants to comfort her, but she's taken a few steps further into the house, so he takes that as an invitation to come inside.

She shrugs. "They weren't impressed, and they made sure I knew it. My mother…"

"What did she say?" he asks, surprising himself with the sharp edge in his voice.

She's still walking slowly away from him, toward the living room, holding her arms protectively across her chest. "Nothing that wasn't true. That's the thing: she's right. But whenever I think she might be hitting too close to the truth, I go and do my best to prove her wrong." She shakes her head. "And all that does is prove her right, because no matter what I do, I manage to screw it up."

She's managed to lose him already, so confused, he asks, "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. No, it's not nothing, but you should go, otherwise you'll get caught up in my neuroses and everything will be messed up." She turns slightly and gestures between them. "Whatever this is, will be ruined. I mean, I don't know what _this_ is, and it's already pretty thoroughly ruined, but knowing me, I could certainly make it worse." There's a slightly hysterical note in her voice and he can read the agitation in the movements of her hands. She bears a striking similarity to the manic version of herself who'd presented him with an ultimatum in the middle of the street a couple of months earlier. This time he wants to do the right thing, find the right words, once he can figure out what's wrong.

"Will you please fill me in? I have no idea…"

She starts pacing, just walking in small ovals in front of him. "I knew it would be bad. I wasn't expecting a Brady Bunch dinner or anything - I knew my mom would let me hear about it and that we probably wouldn't make it to dessert. I just didn't think she'd…" She shakes her head, as if she's trying to toss aside the unpleasant memories.

He reaches for her arm, stilling her motion for a moment. "What did she say?"

Lorelai goes back to pacing, as if she needs the motion to get the words out. "She just kept asking why, what I had done, and finally I just told her, to get her to let go of it, and then she said it was no surprise then, no wonder I can't make a relationship work, that no one wants me. And all I wanted was to prove her wrong."

"She is wrong," he says softly.

"No, Luke, don't do that." She throws up her hands. "That's why I couldn't see you. Because you'd tell me she's wrong. You'd want to prove her wrong and because I'm apparently drama girl, I'd let you, and I can't keep making the same mistakes over and over again."

When he realizes what she's saying, what she means, he's hit again with the memory of her walking away from him into the arms of another man and he feels physical revulsion at the thought. But at the same time he begins to understand why and how it happened and that is was nothing like he's imagined it.

During those dark endless nights that he'd been lost in a sea of love and hate, he'd lain awake imagining Lorelai with Christopher. Watched her run her fingers across his body. Heard her call his name. Felt her wanting _him_. He used those images to fuel the hate when he was feeling too charitable, and tried desperately to banish them when all he wanted was to love her. Those thoughts, so jarring and painful, have been one thing that's made it so hard to let go of all the anger.

But he realizes he's had it all wrong. The woman that walked away from him on the street was as broken as this woman in front of him, more so, even. Whatever happened between her and Christopher wasn't about love or desire, it was about burying pain, about needing desperately to know that someone cared. Knowing that Christopher didn't see that, or chose not to see that, sends him down a murderous train of thought that he has to consciously stop. Because right now what's more important is that she's standing in front of him trying not to make that same mistake again, with him.

His response is measured, but gentle. "What makes you think I'd let that happen?"

"Because it's me, Luke, the world's leading expert on mistakes. I don't need any help screwing up. I do it all on my own." It's that, more than anything that cuts him most deeply, the way that she so naturally takes on the guilt, the responsibility for everything that's gone wrong in her life. That she hears her mother and believes her.

"I don't think you have a monopoly on mistakes, Lorelai." He shrugs. "And I wouldn't have let you." She gives him a guarded look and before she can respond, he adds, "And not because I wouldn't have wanted to."

He can hear her breath hitch a bit and she turns away from him, taking a few breaths, as if trying to bring her emotions under control. She runs her hand across her face and gives a frustrated laugh. "I'm such a mess. You really just need to run, get as far away from my pathetic existence as possible.

He just watches her for a moment, his heart breaking, then shakes his head, "I don't want to run away."

She jerks her head up, her expression wary. "What?" she breathes.

"I want to be with you. Your mother _is_ wrong." It turns out that the right words are not that hard to find after all.

"Luke…" It's only a short utterance, but it conveys uncertainty, hope and sadness in equal measure.

He takes a deep breath, afraid to ask the next question, but knowing he needs to take a step, "What do you want?"

"I can't," she says, hesitating, her voice shaky, "I'm afraid to want anything."

"You don't have to be afraid of me." As soon as he says the words, he knows that's all they are. With all evidence to the contrary, she can't bring herself to believe in them right now. It's all right there in her eyes, and all at once he understands the hesitation, the fear that he's seen since she got back. He reaches for her, hooking his hand around her elbow, not urging or pulling, just resting it there, and he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, "I want you, Lorelai, but I will still want you in three weeks, three months, in three years."

A tear forms in the corner of her eye, and he watches her try to blink it back, then give in and brush it away with the back of her free hand. He takes a tentative step toward her.

She looks alarmed and asks, "What are you doing?"

"You, uh," he gestures toward her, his expression sheepish, "looked like you…uh…could use a," he sighs, "a hug."

By the time he gets it out, there's something resembling a small smile on her face, and then her expression softens into gratitude. Taking that as permission to close the remaining gap between them, he wraps her in his arms. He let out a breath of relief as he feels her relax against him. They stand there like that for a long time. Everything makes more sense now. She's spent months wondering if he really wants be with her; now that he knows he does, he just needs to show her, so that she can start to believe in them again.

He wants to start right away – whisper words of love, make promises, but it's all still too fragile. Words will only remind her that she thinks she shouldn't allow this yet, or ever, so he just holds her, letting his hand run slowly up and down her back.

She grabs fistfuls of his flannel shirt, gripping it tightly as she takes in and lets out long breaths. When she speaks, he feels her jaw moving against his neck. "I'm just so tired of being afraid." There's such a weariness in her voice that he's reminded how long her year has been, that she's not just talking about their engagement.

Continuing to hold her, he whispers, his voice steady but unsure, "You won't be afraid forever."

He feels the breaths she takes before responding, "How do you know?"

"Because I wasn't angry forever."

His shirt tightens around him as she gives one last squeeze of her fists before releasing the material and pulling back a step. She looks at him with wary eyes. "Wasn't?" she asks, emphasizing the past tense.

He just nods, sliding his hands down her arms and taking her hands in his. "It's going to be okay." And he thinks that, finally, after everything that's happened, it actually will be.

* * *

During the next week, while April is away, Lorelai continues her routine of coffee stops and occasional meals. On the surface, nothing has changed. She's visiting the diner sporadically, she's still cautious and she still pays, but now she doesn't need April to initiate her visits. And gradually, he notices, her visits become less about getting a meal or a coffee fix, and more about saying hello and checking in.

The night before April returns from New Mexico, Lorelai comes in for a late dinner and stays until closing. Luke talks more openly about April and Anna, telling Lorelai about the lawsuit, and sharing his frustration about waiting for paperwork to be filed and tests to be run. He mentions the wall he's building in his apartment, at the suggestion of his lawyer, so that April can have a private place to sleep when she finally is able to spend nights with him.

"A wall," she asks, sounding incredulous. "You're building a wall?"

"Yeah," he answers, sliding his rag casually across the counter. "What's the big deal?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "It's just very Bob Vila of you," she says with a teasing grin. He just snorts in response, as she continues, "Hey, you know what a wall needs?"

"A door? Yeah, I'm taking care of that too."

"Wow you _are_ talented," she says with mock astonishment, "but that's not what I meant." She points her index finger toward his chest. "Your wall will need some paint, my friend."

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near a paint sample book, you're out of your mind."

"Hey," she says, pouting, "I did a good job choosing the colors for this place."

He glances around the diner, remembering. "Yeah, you did," he admits grudgingly.

"That was a long time ago." She sounds a little wistful and it makes him think of all that's happened since then – all the good and all the pain.

"Yeah, it was." They share a long glance before her lips quirk into a smile.

"You know, the diner could use-"

"No," he cuts in firmly. "The wall. We'll paint the wall."

"And the other walls to match," Lorelai adds hopefully, as he gives her a dark look. "Oh, come on, Luke," she pleads.

"Fine," he agrees reluctantly, "well paint the other walls, if necessary."

"Okay, so I'll need to take a look at the paint samples," she says innocently.

"No, I'll…" he gives her a triumphant smile, "let April choose."

"Okay, that's fair," Lorelai concedes, nodding. "So, when do we start?"

"I'll probably finish up this week. Maybe next weekend?" he suggests. "April will probably be here next Saturday, so she could help if she wants to."

"That'll be fun," she says, then adds mischievously, "Maybe April will let me help her choose the colors."

Luke just shakes his head as she grins back at him, and it's then that he realizes that she had skipped over the part of the exchange in which she gives him a questioning look and waits for his approval. That maybe she's starting to believe he wants her in his life, and in April's life.

* * *

When April gets back from New Mexico, she seems pleased to return and see both of them a touch more comfortable with each other. She fits herself back into his life, and their life, with an ease that feels so natural that he begins to think it's just a matter of time before he and Lorelai can really start to put their lives back together in a way that makes sense for all three of them.

It's only a few days after April's vacation ends that the DNA results are due back, and Luke looks forward to that day with an eagerness that surprises him. Though he knows that the test is just a legal formality, he's had this niggling worry in the back of his head that something will go wrong, and he'll find out she isn't his after all. He tries to ignore the fear by focusing on the night out he and April have planned as a little celebration of their legitimacy.

The call he gets from Harry to confirm that he is indeed April's father doesn't feel quite momentous enough for the relief he feels, but the squeal that he gets from April when he calls her makes up for it.

That night, when Luke arrives to pick up April, he and Anna manage a civil conversation during which she lets him know coolly that she'll be having dinner with a friend but that she still expects Luke to have April home by nine. Before he has a chance to do anything other than nod, April comes to the door, maneuvering a large box carefully through the room and then around both the front door and the storm door. Once outside, she gives her mom a wave as she balances the box awkwardly on her hip.

Luke eyes her skeptically. "What's the box for?"

"You'll see," she answers with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'll show you at dinner."

"Okay," he says slowly, drawing out the word, then reaching out to take the box.

"No." She gripped it more firmly and twisted slightly away from him. "Not yet."

"I was just offering to carry it."

"I've got it. It's not heavy." Luke shrugs and opens the passenger door of the truck, watching April slide the box across the seat before climbing in herself.

They'd agreed to have this dinner at Sniffy's, and Luke had called ahead, so when they walk in Mazie and Buddy fly across the restaurant to congratulate them and lead them to the 'best' table. "Have we got a dinner planned for you! You're going to love it." Mazie says excitedly after giving both of them hugs.

Luke smirks. "So, are we going to forgo the pretense of menus?"

"Well, there's really no need for them tonight? April, what's in the box, honey?"

"It's a surprise," April answers.

"She wouldn't tell me either," Luke grumbles.

"Wouldn't be much of a surprise then, now would it?" Buddy asks practically, giving April a conspiratorial wink. "Come on now Mazie, let's let these two celebrate. We have some cooking to do."

April smiles after them, then turns to Luke. "We've got some time now, right? While they're cooking our food?"

He nods. "Do I get to find out what the big mystery is?"

She nods back, biting her lip and looking suddenly a little nervous. "This," she pats the box in between them, "is for all the Father's Days we've missed. The thirteen before I met you and the one after."

"April," he protests. "You didn't have to do that. It's just-"

"I know," she cuts in, her tone serious, but the way that the corners of her mouth turn up tell him that she's teasing him. "It's a stupid holiday that Hallmark made up to sell cards and celebrating it is a sign that we've given in to the rampant consumerism." He can't help but smile as she turns to him and asks, "How am I doing so far?"

He grins. "You've got it about right."

"Okay then. Let's get the horror show over with in one fell swoop and then you won't need to worry about our consumer culture until next June." She lifts her eyes to his and her voice takes on a hesitant edge, "Okay?"

Smiling reassuringly, he says, "Sounds great."

"Good." April opens the flaps of the cardboard box and sifts through some of the contents, handing him an envelope dated June 20, 1993.

He gives her a tentative look and when she gestures to the envelope, he opens the flap and pulls out a baby picture.

"That's about the best I could do for that first year," she says, and though she keeps her voice lighthearted, he can hear the nervousness in the speed of her words. "See, I was only a couple of months old, so there wasn't really much else besides baby pictures."

It suddenly occurs to him to wonder why he's never asked for any pictures. Baby pictures, first step pictures, birthday pictures, first day of school pictures. He's seen the ones she's posted on her website, but he's never had one to hold in his hand. A lump forms in his throat as he runs his finger over her tiny baby face. "Thank you," he finally gets out. "I don't have any pictures."

"We've got a lot more at home. I could probably give you some more," April offers.

"That would be…" He glances up at her, "Could you?"

She nods. "Sure." There's a moment of awkward silence before she points into the box and says, "Uh, there's more." She's holding another envelope, this one large enough for a full sheet of paper. It's dated June 19, 1994. He pulls out a piece of heavy art paper. Glued on the top half of the paper is a piece of white paper with a poem printed in a calligraphy font:

_Sometimes you get discouraged_

_Because I am so small_

_And always leave my fingerprints_

_On furniture and walls_

_But every day I'm growing --_

_I'll be grown some day_

_And all those tiny handprints_

_Will surely fade away_

_So here's a little handprint_

_Just so you can recall_

_Exactly how my fingers looked_

_When I was very small_

On the bottom half of the page are two handprints small enough that even with the fingers spread out as widely as they can go, each handprint fits entirely in the palm of his hand.

He looks up at April in amazement. "How did you…?"

She gives a little wave of her hand and explains, "I have a box of stuff like this that must be from school or daycare or something. I think that handprint thing," she points, "is a popular project. I've got another one with the same poem from when I was older."

By now he's caught on to what she's done and he wants to know what else is in the box. The next envelope contains a fingerpainting and the fourth bulges. He pulls out a string strung with what look to be painted pieces of ziti. He gives her a confused glance and she says matter-of-factly, "It's a pasta necklace."

"Okay," he says, nodding his acceptance and setting it down on top of the finger painting.

The fourth envelope has a small vial with layers of sand in various colors. The next envelope April hands him more hesitantly, not letting go until she's explained, "In preschool, the teachers had us make cards for our parents for Mother's and Father's Day. The teacher was new and didn't know that she was supposed to discreetly find me another activity, so I made this."

Luke pulls out a folded piece of yellow construction paper with a stick figure person on the front brandishing some sort of wand or weapon and trailing a cape behind. He opens and inside, printed in large block letters it says, "My Dad is a Superhero." At the bottom, in smaller print, written in both capital and lowercase letters, its says, "Love, April."

It takes him a moment before he can form words, and when he does, he says jokingly, "So, you were hoping for a superhero, huh?"

She gives a wry smile. "Well, I was five."

The next gift is a drawing of a pink truck with green tires driven by an alien, or possibly a bear. That is followed by a small clay dish of some sort.

"What's this?" he asks, holding it up on his fingertips.

"What does it look like?"

"It _looks_ like an ashtray," he says skeptically.

She lifts one shoulder casually. "Then it's an ashtray."

Luke turns to look at her in surprise. "What were you doing making an ashtray?"

"I think it was supposed to be a candy dish, but those sides sort of broke, so I guess it looks like they were supposed to hold cigarettes." She pauses, gesturing to the little dish. "I was seven. I hadn't really developed my pottery skills."

"Have you now?"

"Not so much."

Next up is another card April had made for 'her father' during a school activity.

"Another new teacher?" Luke asks.

She shakes her head. "No, this time I just wanted to. I'd been asking my mom about my dad, uh you, and I wanted to make you a card and tell you about me. So it's got some of my favorite things. She leans over to point out pictures on the card. "See? There's my electricity kit, that's a giraffe, an ice cream cone, a blob of purple…"

He smiles. "Because purple is your favorite color."

"So you get the idea?"

"Yeah," he says, his voice soft as he catalogs the pictures drawn all over the back, front and inside of the card. He sets it down carefully on the growing pile next to him as April pulls something else from her box.

Before handing him the next envelope, she says. "You should know that as I got older I got sucked a little more into the marketplace, so the next few things are going to reflect that." And they do. April is giggling by the time he pulls out the monster truck calendar, followed by the Hallmark card with bold words declaring, "Dad, You're The Greatest!"

The next package holds a tie that he can tell is polyester even before he picks it up. It's got bright yellow and lime green stripes alternated with brown stripes. "It's…" his voice trails off, unable to find the appropriate words.

"Ugly?"

He takes a few breaths, then admits, "Well, kinda."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. Doesn't every dad have to have at least one hideous tie he got as a Father's Day gift?"

He smiles, then narrows his eyes, "Do I have to wear this?"

April considers. "I think that rules would dictate that you'd have to wear it at least once." She hands him something else, a large flat box this time, suggesting, "Maybe it will go with this." She's trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. By the time he's got the wrapping paper off and opens the box to reveal a pink and white pinstriped oxford, she has dissolved into laughter, and he can't help but join in.

He's not sure he can remember being this amused – it's been so long since he's just laughed like that. But then he looks at the pile of cards and drawings, the art projects, and the silly gifts and it's suddenly sobering. There's so much he doesn't have, or never got to have, and he knows this, but the knowledge hits him particularly hard when he's surrounded by the thirteen years of her life that are spread across the table. He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly, then gives his daughter a warm smile. "Thank you for all of this, April. It's…I just," he pauses to steady his voice before continuing, "really appreciate it."

"Good," she says, with no trace of her former silliness. Then she smiles, adding, "Just so long as you don't put the pictures on the fridge or anything."

"I don't know," he says, holding up the space alien/indeterminate mammal picture, "this one would look so nice up there."

She gives him a playful grimace, then digs out the last box, the largest so far, about the width and length of the shirt box, but taller. She hands it to him. "This is a real gift."

He nods, pulls off the paper, and opens the flaps of the box. Inside is another box with a very familiar image on it. He squints, looking more closely, then looks at her, surprised. "That's the lake. At the cabin."

"Yep," she says, nodding, "It's a puzzle. I found this company that makes puzzles out of photos so I scanned in one that I took that weekend we went to your cabin. I thought," she gives him a shy glance, "we could do this together, at the cabin if we go again, or when I stay at your place. There's another one of the diner too." He looks at her in amazement as he lifts out a second box to find a picture of the diner on a bright sunny day.

He glances down in his lap, across the table at the various piles, and then over at his daughter. She's got a small smile, but he can see the nervousness creeping back in, like she's suddenly a little kid, just anxious to please her father. He swallows thickly, then reaches to give her a hug, and whispers into her hair, "Thank you for this."

* * *

After he drops off April, he finds himself on Lorelai's porch, tapping lightly on the frosted glass with one hand, the other holding the box of gifts tight against his side.

He can hear the padding of her feet just before the door is pulled open. When she looks at him, there is confusion etched in the wrinkles of her forehead and she asks softly, "Luke? What about…how was your dinner?"

Taking a breath, he shifts the box so he's holding it in front of him with both hands. "I need…I need you to tell me I'm not going to screw this up by suing Anna."

_To be continued._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but you knew that already.

**Author's Note:** I know it's taken a while for an update this time and I apologize for that. This is a long chapter and it took a while to get it right. As always, I can't say enough wonderful things about my betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, **juststandstill**, and **Lula Bo**. They rock.

* * *

Luke's been trying to think of a word to describe the status of his relationship with Lorelai, but none of the standard terms quite seem to fit. None of them fully capture the strange combination of waiting and peace and anticipation that he feels when he's with her.

They're together three or four nights a week, watching, of all things, romantic comedies. They sit at either end of her couch, sometimes with pie he's brought, sometimes with beer from her fridge, and sometimes both. It's comfortable and awkward at the same time. There's relief to be here with her, sharing evenings and laughter, almost like it used to be. Almost.

Because they're not quite there yet, not back to being engaged, or to him being her boyfriend, or even to dating. In fact, if you were to watch them sitting here, Luke thinks, you'd think that they were just friends – like that night he'd come over here to watch _Casablanca_. He knows that's not really true, that what they've got lies somewhere nebulous that's hard to define. That even though there have been only the most tentative motions towards any kind of physical relationship, they're rebuilding a connection that feels good and solid and real. Even though he's not sure _what_ it is.

It's an odd reversal, really, that the few times they've had any real physical contact, it's been Luke who initiates it: a hand resting on her ankle if she stretches it out in his direction, an arm slung across the back of the sofa just above her shoulders, fingertips against the small of her back when they carry their dishes to the kitchen. She'd always been the one to touch, to hug, to grab his hand or arm while talking. That kind of physicality is so imbedded in her personality that the lack of it is glaring. Glaring, but not alarming, he decides. In fact, the slightly un-Lorelai-like behavior is what makes him think that this is different. That's she's not throwing herself headlong back into a relationship makes him think that she's serious about wanting it to work, and it makes him more confident that whatever they're doing now is just a stop on the way to a relationship that's been repaired so that it will stand the test of time.

At least that's the way he reassures himself as he sits on the opposite end of the couch from her night after night.

Since he's not able to wrap her in his arms or feel the weight of her head against his chest as they watch all these silly movies, he watches her in quick furtive glances. She seems unusually focused, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. It makes him think that this marathon is serving some larger purpose, though if it is, she hasn't shared it with him and, so far, he hasn't asked.

* * *

It's been a little over a week since he and April celebrated the results of the official DNA test, and he's finished building the wall that will give April her own room in his apartment. The following Saturday, April and Lorelai are both in his apartment remarkably early, surrounded by the paint, brushes, and rollers Lorelai had told him they'd need. A few days earlier, she and April had sat at a table in the diner, passing the paint samples back and forth. He'd hovered suspiciously, making sure that Lorelai wasn't monopolizing the sample book, but he'd been pleased to see what looked to be a truly collaborative process. They'd managed to find a shade of purple that was neither too bright, too dark, or too sickly pastel as well as a soothing, but masculine shade of green for the rest of the apartment.

Lorelai had teased Luke for his obsession with cleaning and prepping the walls and taping the trim, but grudgingly admits that it makes them able to move quickly through the painting. They start in April's newly created room and make short work of it before moving out into the main part of the apartment while the first coat dries.

As April and Lorelai temporarily close up the purple paint and ready the green, he goes downstairs to refill Lorelai's coffee and April's Coke. When he returns, he hears April say, "…go to the cabin. My mom and dad finally agreed on a date, so we're going for Labor Day weekend. I'm finally going to get a chance to test out my fishing predictions." Luke leans against the doorjamb for a moment to listen.

"So you're going to drag him away from the diner two times in one summer. That's pretty impressive."

"I guess so," April says, nodding. "He doesn't really get out much, huh?"

Lorelai chuckles. "I think I could count on one hand the number of times he's taken more than one day off in a row."

"You know, you're one to talk," Luke mutters as he shuts the door and walk across the room to hand them their drinks. "When's the last time you had a day off?"

Lorelai glances over at him, obviously unaware that he'd returned. "I just spent six weeks away from the inn," she protests.

"Yeah, and you were working the whole time," he points out, going to the far side of the room to spread newspapers on the floor.

"Okay, you might have a point there."

"Well then, "April pipes in, "you're probably due for a vacation. You should come with us."

Luke watches Lorelai's head jerk around toward his daughter. "Uh…I don't know. That's…that's a trip for you and your dad."

"Yeah, but he'd love for you to come." April turns and gives Luke a quick wink before training a convincing smile on Lorelai. "And so would I. Please?"

From where he's standing he can see Lorelai's eyes narrow skeptically before she glances over at him quickly and then turns back to his daughter. "Are you sure it's really okay with your Dad?"

"Well, of course," April says, in what he's come to know as her 'duh' voice, as she gestures over at him, "but he said I should ask, because you might say yes to me."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Lorelai responds, turning to give him an accusing look.

He shrugs sheepishly. "So, do you want to come?"

She looks conflicted as she meets his eyes, and she says cautiously, "Do you really want me to?"

He gives a small, serious nod.

"I'll have to check the schedule at the inn, but I'll see what I can do."

She looks first at Luke, who says simply, "Good."

When Lorelai turns back to April, the girl says, "Great! That will be fun. Hey, do you think Rory would want to come too? And yes, Luke already said it was okay."

Lorelai grins as she pours some of the green paint into a tray and hands April a roller. "I'll ask her."

The rest of the painting goes smoothly and, Luke has to admit, is a lot of fun. They work to an eclectic soundtrack made up of Lorelai's favorites from the eighties, some hip-hoppy sounding CDs April has brought, and a few things from his collection that have been deemed acceptable. Late in the afternoon they finish up, sealing up the cans of paint and dumping the brushes in water before heading down to the diner for dinner. Though he'd brought up sandwiches for the three of them for lunch, both Lorelai and April are acting as starved as if they'd been lost at sea. He busies himself making their food and covers the diner so that Ceasar can have a break.

Lorelai and April are finishing their pie and chatting amiably when the bell over the door jingles and Luke looks up to see Anna scanning his customers for their daughter, then walking toward the counter when she spots her.

"April, are you ready to-" She cuts herself off as both April and Lorelai turn toward her voice. "Oh. Hi," she says, obviously startled to see Lorelai.

"Oh Mom, this is Lorelai. I've told you about her. We were just finishing up our dinner."

"I see," Anna replies, her lips curving into a stiff, icy smile. Luke can see that though she'd grudgingly acknowledged in one of their first mediation meetings that it was reasonable for April to spend time with 'his girlfriend,' she's not thrilled about the prospect.

Luke watches Lorelai swallow and smile warmly. "I met your mom a while back," she says to April, "in that fabulous store of hers." Turning toward Anna, she says, "It's nice to see you again." Luke is certain he's the only one who notices her voice waver.

"It's nice to see you too." Anna is polite, but unable to muster the same sincerity. She turns to her daughter and says, just a touch sharply, "Well, April, we really need to get going. Maybe Luke can pack up the rest of your pie to go." She looks up at him for confirmation.

"Sure," he says, "I've, uh, got a 'to-go' container right here." Grabbing under the counter for a small container, he smiles at April as he slides her pie into it and hands it to her. "Here you go."

"Thanks, Dad," April says, taking the pie as she slides off the stool. "I guess I'll see you Monday. Bye, Lorelai. See you later."

"Bye, April," Luke says, giving a little wave with his hand as April turns to go. "Goodbye Anna."

As Anna nods toward Luke and leads April out the door, he can hear Lorelai, saying, "Bye April. Goodbye Anna, it was…" Her voice trails off as the diner door closes behind them and she turns and slumps on the counter, muttering softly into her arm, "She hates me."

Luke reaches to give her hand a gentle squeeze. "She doesn't hate you. She doesn't even know you."

Lorelai shakes her head back and forth. "It doesn't matter. I'm her Sherry. I'd hate me too." Lifting her head and propping it on one hand, she continues, "Well, at least she can be assured that I won't ask if I can take April out for a special girls night, just the two of us." Luke lifts his eyebrows curiously, but she just shakes her head again. "Ugh. Don't ask. I'm just sorry if she's mad at you about this."

He squeezes her hand again and leans close to whisper, "Don't be. It's fine." He pulls back, giving her a smile. "Though I think that your instincts about a girl's night out are probably correct. Might want to wait a bit before suggesting that."

She just smiles wryly and he wishes he could say more to reassure her, wishes he could promise all the unpleasantness away.

Later, back up in the apartment, when they're cleaning up the painting supplies, Lorelai says casually, "So you kind of set me up earlier today."

"Huh?"

"About the cabin," she says pointedly.

He smirks. "Oh, that."

"Yeah that. How long have you been planning your ambush?"

"We just made plans for the trip the other day. She asked if I thought you'd come and I told her maybe, but that it might help if you asked her. I didn't know she was going to ask you today, so it's not like some big plot or anything."

"Are you really sure you want me there?" she asks, a touch of hesitation creeping into her voice. "It's not like you get to go away with April that much."

"Well, hopefully that will be changing soon," he says optimistically, then grins, "and besides, how many opportunities will I have to get you into the woods?

"Well, if you put it that way, maybe I'll have to reconsider," she teases. Hesitating for a moment as she finishes rinsing the last of the paint brushes, she goes on, "Seriously though, will it be okay with Anna if I'm there?"

"It will have to be," he says, his voice hard. It makes him angry that it's April's mother, of all people, who is making Lorelai question whether she should spend time with him.

"Luke," she sighs. "I don't want to be a point of argument."

"Lorelai," he insists, "she's my kid. It's legal now. That's what this whole custody suit is about. About making it so that I don't have to run every little thing by her." He stops and looks at her for a moment. "I thought you agreed with that."

"I do, Luke, but I still think that you should tell her."

"I don't need her permission," he says gruffly.

Lorelai reaches out and takes his hand into her warm one. "I didn't say to ask her, but you should tell her."

He notices that neither of them mentions that the though the mediation has just begun, it is already proving to be tense and confrontational. He tries not to think about how unsettled and complicated everything still is, because even though he's determined not to jeopardize his relationship with Lorelai again, he's just as determined not to lose April. He hates feeling like those two things are at odds, and so out loud he's confident, letting himself be annoyed at the mention of Anna's objections, and Lorelai lets him brush it off as well.

He focuses instead on the fact that Lorelai said yes. The waiting, and the not knowing exactly where they stand, is made easier by being able to look forward to a weekend away, because it's a step forward, even if they have to wait a few weeks to actually take the step.

And so they go on like that for a while, gradually testing deeper waters, but spending most of their time in the shallows, where it's easy and comfortable.

* * *

A week or two later, Lorelai comes in for dinner, as has become typical, though there's fatigue written into every motion she makes and she's unusually subdued.

Luke looks up at her under his brow. "How are you?"

She gives him a small half-smile. "Fine. Long day." She fidgets with her fingers for a moment and lets out a long sigh. "My mother came to see me today."

He automatically reaches over to cover one of her hands with his own. "Is everything…what did she say?"

He thinks he can see her wince a bit, but she puts on a bright smile. "Oh, just the usual veiled explanations masquerading as an apology." He gives her hand a squeeze, smiling encouragingly, and after a pause she adds, "I told her I'd go to dinner on Friday."

"Oh. Are you sure you want to go?"

She gives a sober shrug, but adds with a cynical smile, "Yeah, but you should thank me. I got you and April off the hook for joining me."

His eyes go wide, wondering what she's told her mother about him, when she won't admit to anything more specific than 'we're just hanging out' when anyone in town asks what's going on. "Why would…?"

Lorelai smiles wryly. "Rory told her about Labor Day and she, well…it's okay, you're off the hook."

She says it as though she thinks he'll be relieved, and he has to admit that he is a little, at least for the time being. At the same time though, there's enough uncertainty in her voice to make him wonder if she actually wants him to be off the hook, or if she'd like him there, if not this week, at least soon.

It is a moment in which he feels the undefined nature of their relationship tangibly, like a dense fog around the two of them. It's in her expression too, in the way that her gaze skitters away from him as she asks if he realizes that Kirk seems to be constructing a tower using French fries held together with carefully tied strips of lettuce.

He doesn't question her obvious attempt to change the subject, at least in part because he has no more idea what to tell people about their relationship than she appears to have, but he also suspects there's more to the story because he can see that over the next few days she remains deflated. He doesn't ask why, doesn't push her, but he tries to lend a supportive shoulder, and is pleased when she seems to accept it.

And when Anna objects to the custody proposal, she is there for him in the same way: quiet, encouraging. The mediation talks have been going on for a couple of weeks and they've been around and around so much that he's starting to lose faith, particularly when Anna starts to talk about how difficult a time adolescence is – that he shouldn't be trying to make such major changes in April's life right now. She doesn't say it out loud, but what he hears is that this is a time that daughters need their mothers, that this will damage their mother-daughter bond at a time when April will need it most.

He thinks it's because of Lorelai that he feels any sympathy for Anna at all. Having seen Lorelai and Rory together, he knows what they had while Rory was growing up and he can't imagine wanting to come between that.

He tries to tell Lorelai this, tries to explain, but all he gets are incredulous looks and her writing him off as ridiculous. What he really wants to know is what she'd have done if Christopher had shown up when Rory was thirteen and wanted into her life. If she'd have fought him then like Anna's fighting him now.

But he can't bring himself to say Rory's father's name, when all that pain is still so fresh. And maybe it's because he can't really explain it right that Lorelai snaps at him – that she's angry that after all this time and after everything that's come between them he's still letting Anna call the shots.

Her sharpness though, is just the nudge that he needs, just the thing to give him the resolve to continue pushing for a reasonable agreement. To make him stand up to Anna for nothing more than the chance to be April's father.

And to his relief they manage to work it out, due in part to what seems to be a sudden willingness on her part to get everything settled. It ends with him giving a bit on the choice of holidays while holding firm on overnight visits. The process earns him a look of grudging respect from his daughter's mother, a warm, congratulatory hug from Lorelai, and best of all, a shriek of delight from April.

That they've agreed, and only need to wait for the lawyers to draft the final document, takes a weight off Luke's shoulders he hadn't realized was there. The newly afforded lightness gives him a fresh enthusiasm – about fatherhood, about Lorelai, and about their trip to his cabin. He'd subconsciously put off planning for the trip with the fear that they'd have to cancel it, but now he dives in (or more precisely, lets April and Lorelai dive in) to the preparations. They brainstorm meal options, make frighteningly long lists of things to bring, and do their best to torment him along the way.

April's excitement is contagious, but it's Lorelai's quiet interest that warms him the most. Given how much it feels as though they're standing still much of the time, this feels like an opportunity to take a step forward, to show her that he can be a father _and_ be fully with her. And there's a part of him that just wants to show her his family's summer refuge, that can't believe he's never taken her there before.

When they leave late Friday afternoon, they end up taking two cars, because neither her Jeep nor his truck has enough space for all the passengers and all of the gear, and he finds himself disappointed that he has to be separated from her along the way. They drive in tandem though, stopping for dinner at one of the ubiquitous _Friendly's_ restaurants, because, Lorelai reasons, they can get not only burgers and fries, but ice cream as well. Sitting around a table together in the restaurant ordering food like a family, and Luke notes with a smile, probably being mistaken for one, makes him that much more reluctant to get into their separate cars afterward for the remainder of the journey.

They arrive late enough that by the time everyone has claimed their spaces and unpacked their sleeping bags, April's eyes are drooping and Rory is yawning.

He'd known that Lorelai planned to bunk in with their daughters, had expected it actually, but hadn't realized how hard it would be to walk off to another room and close the door when he can hear them shuffling around and giggling like kids at a sleepover. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to sleep knowing that Lorelai was down the hall, lying in a bed less than twenty feet away.

Though he lies awake long into the night, he's up early, cooking all the respective favorites: bacon, sausage, pancakes, and eggs. He does this even knowing that these girls (_women_, he remonstrates himself gently) have him completely wrapped around their fingers, because he knows, that for this weekend at least, he doesn't mind that at all.

There's a long leisurely breakfast and a little exploring of the local woods before he and April push off from the dock to test out her predictions about the best place to catch the largest fish. Though he's skeptical of her chosen spot, and, he admits to himself, a little ignorant of her reasoning, when they return he proudly brandishes her catch, rambling to no one in particular about the best seasoning to use when he throws it on the grill and which things they have with them that will best accompany it.

And so it is that a few hours later he settles down at the head of the table, eating a fish caught by his daughter while looking into the eyes of the woman he loves. It's heady, the rush of emotion that follows, and he wants to tell her what it means that they're together again, what it means that his daughter is crazy about her and her own daughter, but it might be too much, so he just tries to let her see it in his eyes and in his smile.

After dinner, April pulls out the puzzles she'd given him for the late Father's Day gift and it's no surprise that he ends up bent over the picture of the lake with her, and that Lorelai and Rory claim the one of the diner. They work quietly for a while, working out their own puzzle systems. It amuses him to no end that he and April both very methodically separate out the border pieces and complete the outside before moving on to the center of their puzzle, while Lorelai and Rory identify their favorite parts of the picture and search rather haphazardly for the pieces to fill them in.

He periodically hears Lorelai call out, "Ooh, here's part of the L," or "I finished the S," and he knows she's working on the sign.

It's not clear what part Rory is working on, but after a bit of searching and some successful yelps, she sits back in her seat for a moment, "Oh my god!"

"What?" Lorelai asks.

"It's you," Rory says incredulously.

"What?"

"In the puzzle. I'm working on the counter, and there's Luke, and there's this woman. It's you."

"No, that can't be." She frowns thoughtfully. "Can it?" She looks over at April. "Can it?"

April looks sheepish. "Well…"

Luke's eyes go wide and he stares at his daughter for a moment before walking over to look at the puzzle. Even from the back, he can tell that the dark-haired woman at the counter is Lorelai. It's not just because he recognizes the amused tilt of her head, but also because there's an exasperated smile on his face that he knows only she is capable of bringing out. There's nothing especially remarkable about the moment; they've had hundreds of moments like the one in the picture and they'll probably have hundreds more, but the way the image is captured in the puzzle makes it clear how much she fits, in the diner, in his life. He glances over at Lorelai and there's a bit of awe in her expression, so he thinks she sees it too. They share a look until she drops her eyes and then Luke turns toward his daughter. "You took this?"

"Yeah." April nods. "Before I came and got your hair I kind of staked out the diner. I was there most of the day, so I ended up taking a bunch of pictures of it."

"And that's the one you chose to make into a puzzle?"

She answers with a smirk, "I just thought that was the best of the bunch."

His eyes narrow at his daughter. "You're not subtle, are you?"

"Well, no, not particularly."

Luke just stares at his daughter for a moment then over at Lorelai and Rory, watching the surprise on their faces shift to amusement. Before he can entirely process what's going on, all three women have dissolved into laughter and he's joining in as well.

As they go back to work on their respective puzzles, he looks up periodically to find Lorelai watching him with a shy smile.

By the time they complete the puzzles, the pieces are beginning to blur in front of Luke's eyes and April can no longer hide her yawns, so they all agree to turn in for the night. After last night, Luke is prepared for the bustle of pajama-ed women in and out of the cabin's only bathroom, so he stands back to let them finish before taking his turn.

What he really wants, though, is a moment with Lorelai. He's not even sure for what – possibly just a simple goodnight, but he can't go into his room and shut the door on this day without looking her in the eye and letting her see how much it means to him to have them all here.

When she's finished up her turn, and while April and Rory are still brushing their teeth, he pulls Lorelai into his room, holding gently to her wrist. He has to resist the urge to shut the door and push her against it, and instead he takes hold of both of her hands.

She looks up at him expectantly, and he's suddenly not sure what he'd planned to tell her.

"This has been such a great day."

"It has," she agrees, her voice soft.

"It wouldn't have been the same," he hesitates, "without you here."

She bites her lip and looks down at their joined hands, before looking back up at him and smiling. "I'm glad."

As he stands there, holding her hands, he's reminded just how little physical contact they've had in the last few weeks.

This time, though, when he lifts one hand to hold the back of her head gently, she leans in too, and they kiss, tenderly but briefly. When they pull apart, she loops her arms around his neck and they just hold each other for a long moment before she pulls back and says, "Good night, Luke." Then she slips out of his arms and turns to head toward the room she is sharing with Rory and April.

* * *

The next day, after they've cleaned up from breakfast and April has convinced Rory to go out fishing with her, Luke walks out the door of the cabin to find Lorelai leaning against the porch post, her head tipped sideways and resting against the wood as she looks out toward the water. He stands for a moment, drinking her in: the few strands of hair that have escaped from the messy knot atop her head to trail down along her slender neck, the bright blue bikini top she's wearing under a thin tank that falls lightly over her curves, and the ragged cut-off shorts that accentuate the length of her legs. Luke follows her gaze to see Rory and April loading a few things into the boat and then pushing off from the dock.

Coming up behind Lorelai, he rests a hand on her shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey back," she says, lifting one arm across her chest and taking his hand in hers.

After a few moments, he asks, "Whatcha doing?"

She shrugs. "Just watching," she gestures toward the water, "Rory and April." She's quiet for a moment, then says softly, "I want this."

"This?"

"Weekends at the cabin. Rory getting to know April." Her voice grows quiet and he has to step closer to hear her. "Being with you."

He leans in so that his chin grazes Lorelai's temple. "Me too. I'm so glad that you and Rory came with us."

"I'll have to thank _April_ for inviting us," she says pointedly.

He chuckles and drops one hand to rest at her hip, letting his thumb glide slowly back and forth against the fabric of her shorts. He knows Lorelai is afraid of getting pulled back into a physical relationship until she's sure that it's not just about comfort or loneliness. And he's been waiting, because he wants her to trust this, trust him. Because it had shaken him to see how much all of this had shaken her. How it had made her question herself.

Being here though, having her with him for hours at a time, makes him want to touch her, hold her, kiss her. It's made him reach out more frequently with a hand on her shoulder, fingertips on the small of her back, or the back of his hand against her knee. It's what makes him press his lips lightly to the spot just above her ear.

When he pulls back, he hears her, her voice throaty, "I want you, too."

"Like _want me_, want me?"

Her shoulders shake with laughter, but when she answers him, her words are calm and serious. "Yes, Luke, I _want_ you, want you."

He sucks in a breath, slipping the arm that had been at her hip around her waist, and pulling her tightly to him, then dropping his lips to place a kiss on her neck. "I want you, too," he kisses down her shoulder, "very much."

She lets out a little moan, tipping her head further to let him continue. He slips his fingers under the hem of her shirt and runs them back and forth across her belly, eliciting another moan. She wraps her hand around his wrist, holding it there as his fingers continue exploring.

His lips right next to her ear, he whispers, "I really, really want to carry you off to the bedroom right now."

She falls back against him and hugs his arms around her waist. "Oh God, it's tempting," she breathes, "but we shouldn't. Not with them here."

"You're right," he agrees reluctantly, tightening his arms around her as he drops his forehead to her shoulder. "Rain check?"

He thinks he hears her let out a little giggle, then take a few breaths to compose herself. "Maybe later?" she asks hesitantly. "After you drop off April?"

He nods. "Dear God, yes."

They stand for a moment watching the boat move slowly across the lake. Eventually, Lorelai loosens Luke's arms from around her and sits, pulling him down next to her before wrapping both of her arms around his and resting her head against his shoulder. After a few moments, she lets out a little chuckle and says, "I'm having a hard time picturing Rory fishing."

"Don't worry," he says with a grin, "April's got her camera." She turns to look at him and he shrugs. "I figured it was a once in a lifetime shot."

"Yeah probably," she says with a grin. "If April can pull her away from Cosmo."

"Cosmo? She's out there with my daughter reading Cosmo?"

"It's just a magazine."

"But they have articles on 'How to please your man' and 'Ten best positions for mind-blowing sex.' I don't want my daughter reading that."

"First of all, I don't even want to know why you know that. Second, I don't think that Rory is reading the articles out loud to her, and third – Oh God," she groans suddenly. "Why'd you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me think about Rory…pleasing her man, and…mind-blowing sex."

He can't control the nausea that grips his stomach then or the clamminess in his fingers. "I'm sorry," he says genuinely, the mental images so disturbing that he thinks he's just now understanding something about parenting that he never had before.

In spite of the cold feeling in his fingers, he takes Lorelai's hand in his and squeezes gently. " I don't want her to grow up." From the way she tightens her grip around his arm, he thinks she knows that he's talking about April now. "I just got to know her and she's already a teenager."

He can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she takes a few breaths and when she speaks, her voice wavers. "You can't possibly know how much I wish I had the power to give those years back to you, but she's lucky to have you now. You're making a difference to her." Her words sound melancholy and he wonders what's behind that, but then she goes on, more brightly, "You haven't even known her a year and you've already got her fishing. It's only a matter of time before she's got her own flannel and a backwards baseball cap."

He can't really respond, because as much as he wants to, he's not quite sure he believes her yet, he's not entirely convinced he hasmade a mark that matters in the life of this teenage girl. Lorelai believes though, and for right now he lets that be enough, doesn't say anything to poison the thought.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day close to each other. If they're not curled together on the porch watching the boat bob on the lake, they're sliding past one another in the kitchen while making sandwiches for lunch, or rubbing elbows while playing cards all afternoon.

By the time they part for the drive home, he's sure it's obvious to both Rory and April that something has shifted. So much so, that before they head to their cars after stopping for dinner Lorelai gives him a kiss in full view of their daughters, then leans in and whispers, "I'll see you later, right?"

He can only nod and smile.

By the time he gets back to Lorelai's house, Rory's car is gone and he feels a twinge of guilt at the relief he feels about that. His heart flutters a bit as he stands for a moment in front of the door, stuck in the inconsequential decision about whether to knock or ring the doorbell.

His debate is interrupted when the door opens, and Lorelai says nervously, "You aren't changing your mind, are you?"

He shakes his head firmly and she gestures him inside. They share exactly three seconds of awkward staring before they lunge at each other. He's cradling her face in his hands as he kisses her and she's pushing him against the door. His hands slide over her shoulders and down to her hips, pulling her body to him as she reaches to loosen the buttons of his shirt. He struggles to lift her shirt over her head at the same time she's tackling his shirt and they end up in a tangle of limbs. He finally manages to wrench her shirt off first one arm and then the other. She returns to his shirt buttons with a vengeance and he tries the clasp on her bra.

He wonders if she's having the same debate he is – not wanting to stop kissing her to focus on getting her clothes off. He's sure it would only take a few seconds, but he's been wanting to feel her lips on his for so long that he just continues his frantic motions, though he's still utterly failing. Finally, Lorelai breaks the kiss and dissolves into laughter.

"What?" He's confused, though he can't help but chuckle along with her.

She shakes her head and looks up at him sheepishly. "God, we're pathetic. Just like a couple of horny teenagers."

He gives her a half smile, cupping her face in his hands and running his thumbs across her cheeks. "We don't have to do this."

She leans in and kisses him. "You're kidding, right?"

He grins. "Just checking."

"I really want you," she confirms, her voice a touch hoarse.

"Good." He can hear the relief and desire plainly in his voice. He kisses along her jaw, back towards her ear, then whispers, "I've been thinking about you."

"Dirty thoughts?" she asks, her lips curved into a grin as she plants kisses down his neck and pulls him toward the stairs.

He shrugs. "Among others."

"I wanted to sneak into your room last night," she confesses.

"Yeah?" he asks, following as Lorelai starts backing up the stairs.

"Yeah."

"Great minds…" he begins, pausing as they step onto the lower landing. He reaches to palm the back of her head, giving her a long look before he captures her lips in a heated kiss.

"I think this makes up for it though," she mumbles against his lips, tugging him further up the stairs.

He stumbles after her. "Definitely."

When they finally make it up the stairs, it hits him that he hasn't been in her room since that day she'd left for Vermont, and he can't really believe that he's actually here again. And not just here, but here kissing her, feeling her skin under his fingertips.

In the last few weeks, he's gotten used to thinking through every light hand at her hip, every brush of his hand on her shoulder. Though there have been moments that he's wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to feel her body pressed against his, the impatience he's been feeling isn't about sex. It's about being eager to regain what they lost, to get back to where they were so that he can convince himself that the connection they've been rebuilding is more than an illusion.

He'd like to think that it's because he's patient and altruistic that he's held back from her. Really, it's because he's afraid. Afraid to see her pull back. Afraid to see reluctance. It's why he's limited his touches to what he thinks she'll accept, those gestures that border on platonic. Now, to have her here eager and wanting – it's just what he's hoped for, but it takes some mental adjustment.

His thoughts have paused him a moment too long, and she's looking at him with questions in her eyes. Before she can wonder too long what he's thinking he kisses her again while his hands search out the unruly bra strap. This time, the stars are aligned, the clasp slips open, and he slides the fabric down her arms. He runs his fingers down the valley between her breasts and under the soft curves, gratified when she lets out a satisfied moan.

His success at undressing her seems to renew her interest in removing his shirt, and when she again brings her hands to his chest the buttons fall open willingly, as if fate itself is intervening. Only a few minutes later, she's pulling him back onto the bed.

And that should be enough - that she's naked under him, kissing him, touching him - but the images of her with another man, with _him_, have bruised his ego. He needs to hear her whimper, needs to make her call his name over and over, needs to feel her arching beneath him. And so he does, selfishly reclaiming every inch of her flesh, each one of her moans pushing his unwelcome thoughts more firmly out of his mind, so that when she lies there gasping, her eyes lit with awe, it feels like the two of them are the only people in the world.

"You do realize," she says, her words coming out between ragged breaths, "that you've set the bar for foreplay really high – like Olympic level or something?"

He grins. "So what you're saying is that you don't think it's a standard that can be maintained?"

"I don't know," she teases. "What do you think?"

He's chuckling, but he can hear his voice drop when he answers. "That I'm going to have a great time training."

Her smile is brilliant and carefree and then she's shaking with laughter and it's perfect. They're in bed together and she's laughing and it's perfect.

When her giggles subside, she looks up and him, cupping his cheek in her palm. "So now that you've just redefined the phrase 'incredible opening act,' what are you waiting for?"

"I don't know," he says softly, "just savoring the moment, I guess."

"My God, you must have taken some sort of perfect man pill on the way over here." She looks down where her fingers are tracing a path down his chest. "Seriously though, you're lying naked in bed next to your…with your…uh…"

She's been so sure tonight, so confident and ready, that when she falters in her search to define what they are and can't meet his eyes, his heart breaks just a little and he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and offers, "My love."

The moment he says the words he literally sees her eyes fill with tears. She gives him a tremulous smile and throws her arms up around him and whispers into his neck, "I can't believe you just said that. I love you."

She falls back onto the bed and he brushes her hair back from her face then leans in to kiss her eyelids, cheeks and nose, finally pulling back to meet her eyes. "I love you."

"Well, good," she says, pulling herself up to return the kisses. "Now let's get this show on the road already."

Afterwards, he rolls onto his side and starts to pull her back against his chest, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around her and feel her warm skin pressed against him. Before he can though, she stops and flips over to face him, resting her head on his shoulder and throwing her arm across his chest. "It's better this way. I want to look at you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "It's kind of a 'seeing is believing' kind of thing."

The words make him ache with sadness and all he can do is tighten his arms around her in reassurance. She lifts her head and gives him a kiss, as if to acknowledge the gesture, then collapses back into his embrace.

As they lie there, he can't help but run his fingers up and down her arms, and draw circles across her back, marveling at the fact that they're here, he in her bed, she in his arms. She's murmuring faint little noises of contentment and tightening her grip around his abdomen as if to pull herself as close to him as possible.

"So, what changed?" he ventures.

She lifts her head sleepily. "Huh?"

"What made you decide…" he gestures between them.

"That it was time to make like squirrel monkeys?" she asks with a grin.

He cringes. "You sure know how to suck the romance out of things. But yeah. What happened to make you want…"

"You?"

He can feel himself flushing in response to the naked desire in her voice. "I guess."

She chuckles, but then lays her head back down, quiet while she draws mindless patterns with her index finger across his belly. Finally she speaks, her breath warm on his neck. "This weekend was amazing, Luke. I'm so glad that we could all spend time together – You and me and April and Rory. But I think, mostly, it was the fish."

He turns his head to look at her. "What?"

"When April caught the fish."

"April catching a fish made you want to have sex with me?" He can feel confusion etched in the wrinkles between his eyes.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Well, I would have said 'make love,' but that's a whole other conversation. But yes, it was the fish."

"You _are _planning to explain that, right?"

"When you guys got back, when you pulled into the dock, you were so excited about that fish. You should have seen yourself, Luke, beaming and going on about experiments with baits and lures or something. You were just so ridiculously proud of your daughter and you couldn't wait to tell me about it."

"That's it?" he asks with amazement. "Because I was excited about a fish? I don't get why that was such a big deal."

She shrugs. "It's hard to explain. It wasn't that you were excited. It was, I don't know…you've asked me for advice before, told me what you were worried about, but this was just you telling me as if you couldn't fully enjoy it until you'd shared it with me, like I was a part of it."

He can't even remember or understand any of the reasons he'd kept her out of it and now it's impossible to imagine not being able to share his life with her. He reaches to run his fingers across the soft patch of skin below her ear and brushes her lips with a tender kiss. "You are a part of it. I hope you know that."

She just nods and gives him a content smile. They just stare at each other and just when the moment is about to get a touch too emotional, she chuckles.

"What?"

"You were soooo adorable going on about how to cook it and what we'd eat with it. I've never seen you so excited about a meal before."

"I couldn't believe I got you to eat fish."

"Well, there was absolutely no way I couldn't eat that fish, but then again you could make cardboard taste good." She takes his hand in hers, running her thumb back and forth across his palm, her eyes averted. "That whole night you were just so happy, like you really wanted me there. I didn't feel like I was in the way. You were still her dad, but I was there too. And Rory was a part of it too. It was…I don't know," she pauses, her voice hesitant, "like a family."

"Yeah," he nods, "it was."

She sinks back down into the crook of his arm, saying with a wide yawn, "Well, all I can say is thank God for the fish."

"I can't even tell you…" he starts, then runs his finger lightly along her temple and asks, "Sleepy?"

"Yeah, you wore me out, my friend." She grins at him. "Not that I'm complaining or anything. You're not sleepy?"

"I am. I just," he tightens his grip around her, "I've missed this _so_ much."

"You are _such_ a softy. Hey…" she taps his shoulder, "please tell me that you don't have an early delivery tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Labor Day."

"So?"

"It's a national holiday."

"Are you saying that means no early deliveries?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. That, and the diner's closed tomorrow."

Lorelai lifts her head from his chest, turning to look him in the eye. "What?"

He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Taking the day off."

"But you never close the diner." He can see alarm in her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he answers, but she's still looking at him suspiciously. His fingers trail up and down along her bicep, and he continues nervously, suddenly concerned that he's being presumptuous. "I…well…you said you had tomorrow off and I know that Rory went back to Yale. I just thought…do you have anything you have to do?"

She still looks shocked and now he's starting to wonder what she's thinking. "You're really closing the diner?" He gives a small nod. "So let me get this straight. You're closing the diner tomorrow to spend the day with me?"

Somewhere in the middle of the sentence, Lorelai's expression has changed from incredulity to awe. When Luke answers, he lifts his hand and runs the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "It's no big deal."

Her smile widens and she settles back down into his chest, her voice giddy as she gives him a gentle poke. "You are _so_ getting lucky tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" he teases.

"Yeah. Too worn out now. I couldn't do you justice now. Heh. Do you." she says laughing, and gestures at him with a floppy arm. "You wore me out, but tomorrow, just you wait."

"I'll be looking forward to it." He presses a kiss to the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "But I'm already pretty damn lucky."

* * *

The next day, after a long, lazy morning in bed, and the best breakfast Luke can muster with the ingredients available in her house, he goes home to get some clothes and stop by the market for some food. He returns with a paper grocery sack and a small duffle bag, and after putting the groceries away quickly he takes the bag upstairs to leave it in Lorelai's room. Pausing a moment at the top of the stairs, he wonders when it went from being their room back to just being her room. Crossing the room to 'his' closet, he opens it hesitantly, but as the door opens wide to let in light, he can see that the few items of clothing are no longer shoved to the back of the closet and the box of his toiletries is missing. He glances around quickly, then walks into the bathroom, touched to find his shampoo, shaving cream, and toothpaste neatly arranged in the medicine cabinet. Smiling to himself, he drops the duffle next to the closet door on his way back downstairs.

Lorelai is in the process of figuring out which movie to torture him with when he wraps her in a hug, holding her for a long moment, his face buried in her hair.

"Hey, I was thinking of making some soup." He tips his head toward the kitchen. "While it's simmering we can watch," he glances at the DVD case in Lorelai's hand and groans, "another Meg Ryan movie? Seriously? Isn't there a whole romantic comedy genre to explore?"

"Well, she's a category all to herself, and besides, I'm not sure our Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks experience is complete without _Joe Versus the Volcano_."

"I think that my Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks experience was complete a few movies ago," he says dryly.

"Oh, you just don't want to admit that you were worried that they'd miss each other at the top of the Empire State Building," she teases.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"And while I know that _When Harry Met Sally_ does not have Tom Hanks, it is true classic."

"That one, I will grant you, wasn't awful."

"High praise indeed," she says, grinning, "but I figured you liked that one. It is pretty relevant, after all."

He lifts one shoulder nonchalantly. "If you say so."

"I do," she says, eyes twinkling in a way he hasn't seen in a long time. He tries to remember the last time he's seen this side of her that is so persistent and confident. It's refreshing, and it makes him launch into his argument with renewed vigor. "That other one though," he protests, "_You've_ _Got Mail_ or something. So predictable. And we're supposed to be glad that she ended up having to close her mother's store? That's supposed to be a happy ending?" He can feel himself getting agitated, but it only serves to make Lorelai more amused.

"But they were able to conquer their differences because they loved each other," she insists.

He just snorts in response, "He took advantage of her feelings…" His voice trails off when he sees her watching him, her head tipped to the side as if evaluating his words.

"You know, we don't _have_ to watch any of them."

"Really? Just like that?" he asks, unsure what to make of her sudden change of heart. He knows it's a minor thing, disagreeing about movies, but he can feel little warning bells going off at the way that she drops the argument.

"Just like that." She drops her arms out to her sides. "I mean, you've got to be going nuts spending all this time watching chick flicks."

He frowns and says evenly, "Don't do that." He hadn't seen it in time before, the way she'd let go of her stubbornness, the way she'd let herself change because she thought she shouldn't fight him. And even though it hadn't permanently damaged them until he'd been confronted with April, he knows that even before that, she'd been reluctant to really fight with him. This time, he wants her to feel safe being herself, ludicrous arguments and all.

"Do what?"

"Give in."

She looks at him curiously, her brow furrowed. "It's just a movie."

"This time it's just a movie. It's not always just a movie."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't fight me anymore."

"You want us to fight?"

"Well, not fight. Argue maybe."

Lorelai scrunches her face in confusion, bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head. "We're having this wonderful, relaxing day. I don't understand why you want to argue."

"I don't want to argue. I just don't want you to always _not_ argue." She's giving him a completely baffled look, so he attempts to clarify. "You used to always tell me – loudly and repeatedly, I might add – when you disagreed with me. But since we've been together you've stopped doing that."

"But isn't compromise what relationships are all about?" she insists.

"Not if you're the only one compromising."

She drops her arms and lets out a sigh, watching her fingers tangle together in front of her. "We're not talking about movies anymore, are we?"

He shakes his head. "No, we're not." He lifts his eyes to hers, asking softly, "Why are you always the one to back down when we argue?"

"I'm not."

"You are. We used to have screaming matches, hold grudges."

She stares at him in disbelief. "And you _miss_ that?"

"No, but you used to stick up for yourself. You would always speak your mind, over and over, until your opponent was just so exhausted that they would give up. What happened to _that_ Lorelai? The one who's not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong?"

He can see from the way that she's staring at her toes as she crosses her arms across her chest that she's hearing him, but she doesn't respond, and he thinks maybe it's because she knows he's right and she's unable to come up with a counter-argument.

They stand there in silence for a moment and he watches her glance at the DVD she's still holding. "Why did you stop getting angry with me? It certainly wasn't because I was the perfect fiancé," he says bitterly.

She's silent so long that he's not convinced she's going to answer him, but finally she takes a few breaths and says, "I don't know, it'sjust hard." She takes another few breaths before admitting, "You weren't mine to lose before."

"Lorelai," he says, his voice breaking a bit, "I'm not going _anywhere_." He takes one of her hands in his, curling his fingers around hers and stroking them with his thumb, "I just want you to tell me when I'm fucking up." She eyes him skeptically, and it's then that he realizes just how much work they need to do to rebuild their trust. "I didn't realize I'd made that so difficult."

"It's not…" She shrugs, then gives him a half-smile. "So I should yell at you more?"

"Something like that."

"Okay then." She nods, then looks at him with a playful glint in her eye, "Does that mean I should proceed with the exhaustive arguing, or should I just pop in _Joe_ here?" she asks, waving the movie in front of him.

He chuckles. "I guess I talked myself out of that argument. Maybe I should have put off the revelation until you picked out a less ridiculous sounding movie. "

Lorelai smacks him jokingly with the movie and smiles. "Your loss. Should I put it in now, or were you going to make soup or something?"

He points toward the kitchen, and after dropping the DVD case on the couch, she follows him. It takes him a little while to cut and chop everything and bring it to a boil, but she seems happy to bounce around the room on the balls of her feet, searching out a knife here and a ladle there.

While he's standing at the stove sautéing some onions and garlic, she leans back against the counter and asks, "Is it really that bad – the movies? I mean, apparently Meg Ryan is sheer torture, but we've been watching other things in between. You seemed to like that one with Michelle Pfeiffer." She winks at him. "Or maybe it was Michelle Pfeiffer you liked."

He eyes her darkly. "Oh, you mean the one where you spent the whole movie drooling over George Clooney?"

"He was pretty drool-worthy in that one," she admits, gazing off across the kitchen with a dreamy look in her eye.

"Hey, stop that."

"What?" she asks innocently

He leans in to kiss her. "Stop thinking about other men." His voice is stern, but he lets a small smile escape so that she knows he's joking, then adds a few more ingredients to the pot and goes back to stirring. "So, what's this all about anyway?"

"What?"

"The movies. What's with watching all the movies?"

"Nothing. It's nothing," she answers, but her attempt to brush it off is a touch too casual and he lays down the spoon on the counter and turns toward her.

"Lorelai, you've watched - we've watched - almost every romantic comedy made since 1982. Did you figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

"Whatever it was that you were looking for."

"I don't know. It wasn't like I was searching for some particular message or anything."

"Well, that's good," he says, letting out a breath. "It's not like there's a lot of profound wisdom in any of them."

He watches her socked foot trace a pattern on the kitchen floor, then she lifts her shoulder and lets it fall, her voice so quiet when she speaks that he's not sure he's heard her. "I just needed to see it. I needed to see it work out."

"What?"

She meets his eyes for a moment and answers, "Love," before her gaze flitters away.

"Well, I guess you picked the right genre then," he says lightly, "because you got plenty of nauseatingly happy endings."

He grimaces at the thought and she chuckles, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. "Exactly. No matter what kind of crazy challenges there are along the way, it works out in the end."

The rest of the day is spent exactly the way they've spent so many evenings lately, except that this time Lorelai doesn't hesitate to press a kiss to his lips before she curls up next to him on the couch. And she spends much of the movie playing with his hand, tracing patterns along the length of his fingers, running her nails along the lines of his palm. Sometime in the middle of the movie, she gives his hand a gentle squeeze and says softly, "Thank you for today."

He smiles and tugs her close. "Just promise me that if Kirk is lying dead of starvation on the diner steps that you'll help me dispose of his body."

"I suppose," she says, drawing out the word in mock-protest as she snuggles against his chest. "If that's what it takes to spend the day with you."

He just shakes his head and chuckles. And when he reaches to tip up her chin so that he can press a kiss to her lips, he can see that she's laughing too.

_To be continued_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just doing repairs.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry it's been so long between updates. Life's been a little crazy, to say the least. I hope to have the rest of this story completed before too long. I also have to give huge thanks to **CineFille** and **Lula Bo** for reading this and giving me such insightful feedback.

* * *

In the days after their trip to the cabin, Luke feels like he and Lorelai are edging back to the relationship they'd had before fears and secrets had started driving them apart. Right after their return Luke takes her out on a real date, but unlike their last 'reunion' date, he tries not to make a big deal about it. They go to a quiet, out of the way restaurant where no one will make a big fuss. They've spent so long working through everything that pulled them apart and he just doesn't want to dwell on it any longer; instead he just wants to spend time with her.

He wants to listen to her stories, tell her about his day, let his fingers trace circles just above her knee. And, most of all, look her in the eye and let her see what he's been holding back for the last month or more. And when he brings her home he wants her to invite him inside so that when he falls asleep it's with her nestled against him.

That's how it is for the next several days. On nights when April and Lorelai aren't collectively teasing him from the diner counter, Luke and Lorelai go out to dinner, or to a movie, or stay in for a movie, and those are the nights that he stays with her, tucked into the familiar bed under the bedding they picked out together.

He hadn't thought that it would be possible to miss her more than he did during the time she spent in Vermont, when he had no idea if they had any future together or if he even wanted them to. But having her back in his life completely, he's realizing anew everything that he'd missed. The restless little noises she makes in her sleep that quiet when he gathers her next to him. The tickle of the strands of her hair spread across his chest when he wakes. The fierceness of her kisses in the darkness of the bedroom. Now when he lies awake alone in his apartment he wonders when they'll get back to the point where their default is to stay together rather than apart.

There are a couple of nights she's at the diner late and when she leaves he thinks he can see her debating whether to ask him back home. And when she doesn't he wonders if it's because she's not ready for that small shift in their routine, or whether she thinks he's not ready for it. They haven't stayed in his apartment either and he's not sure if that's just the way that it's happened or because his apartment has been redone to make room for his daughter and she's reluctant to invade that space.

On the other hand, his presence is gradually returning to her house. His toiletries mingle with hers in the new larger bathroom and his brand of shampoo rests on the shelf in the shower. There is food in the refrigerator and his teabags are on the counter. And one night when Paul Anka has one of his overnight shoe rearranging fits, Luke's boots are right there in the line with Lorelai's smaller, narrower shoes.

He has to remind himself that it hasn't been very long since their trip to the cabin and that they are making tiny little steps forward. But while he's not impatient exactly, he is sometimes eager to get there sooner, to be fully in her life, to have his stuff in her house and to be in her bed every night. And it's not just about sex, though he's starting to believe the study that says that guys think about sex every 74 seconds or whatever it is.

It's more about getting on with the life he thinks they're supposed to have, and about kicking himself for letting them get so far off-track. So, because of that, one of the nights that she gives one of her tentative goodbyes before turning to go, he says, "Hold on." She turns back, lifting one eyebrow in an unspoken question. "If you want to wait a few minutes while I clean up, I can walk you home," he offers.

She pretends to consider. "Well, okay," she says, drawing out the words, "as long as there's some coffee left in that pot."

He shakes his head in mock exasperation but looking up at her shining eyes lets loose a warm smile. They leave the diner a few minutes later, and after waiting for him to lock up, Lorelai wraps both of her arms around his and rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn't say much on the walk home and that should seem more unusual than it is, but he's noticed that she's more contemplative of late. In recent weeks they're as likely to share a comfortable silence as they are to bounce banter back and forth.

When he walks her up the steps and they stop at the door, he holds her hands in his. Before he has a chance to whisper good night, she leans into him, planting a brief, soft kiss on his lips and then wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms automatically snug around her waist and they stand like that for a long moment before she breathes into his ear, "Do you have to go back home?"

He shakes his head slowly and asks, "Do you want me to stay?"

He half expects an off-color joke, but she's wearing a serious expression when she nods slowly and admits, "I miss you when you're not here."

"So do I. So do I."

* * *

Once inside, Lorelai pulls two beers out of the fridge and they settle in to watch a little television. When Luke can feel himself starting to droop, Lorelai drags him upstairs to get ready for bed.

Before heading to the bathroom, he slips out of his jeans and flannel and into the sweats he's left here to sleep in. As he's spreading the toothpaste on his brush, Lorelai asks from the bedroom, "You know, you've accumulated some dirty clothes here. One might think that you're hoping I'll wash them for you." She appears in the doorway of the bathroom with an impish smile and her ice cream cone pajamas. "So, did you want me to throw them in with mine or what?"

"Don't put your back out over it or anything, but if you were going to do laundry anyway…" He's teasing her, but at the same time he can't help feeling a sense of warmth at being included in her domestic routines.

She just grins as she turns to walk back into the bedroom to pull out the laundry basket and begin to sort the clothes. He smiles to himself, but a few minutes later, when he's just finished flossing, he hears her call from the next room.

"Luke?" she says, her voice shaky.

He walks toward her, concerned. "Yeah, I'm right here."

She's sitting on the floor of the bedroom, the jeans he'd been wearing earlier spread across her lap. In her hands is a white envelope, _the_ envelope. "What's this?" she asks tentatively, staring down at her hands, as if she's a little afraid of what she's holding. As if she's not sure she wants to open it to see if the little bulge is what she thinks it is. Finally she looks up at him, takes a deep breath and asks, "Is it?"

He just nods slowly.

She closes her eyes briefly before asking, "You've been carrying it around?"

This time he takes in a breath before ducking his head in a small nod of admission.

"I guess I figured you'd thrown it away," she says with forced lightness.

He's quiet too long and she looks up at him, her brow wrinkled and her mouth half-open. "I almost did," he confesses quietly.

He watches her swallow and when she speaks her voice is strained. "Where? When?"

Before answering he drops to a crouch. "In the river in Vermont. After you told me about…" He can't finish out the sentence, but she nods in understanding, looking down at her hands where she's turning the envelope over, again and again. He lowers himself all the way down, turning so that he's sitting cross-legged in front of her. Reaching out for her knee, he's startled by her voice.

"Why didn't you?"

Even though she's not looking at him, he shrugs. "It wasn't big enough." She looks up at that, her eyebrows raised in confusion. He clarifies, "The river wasn't big enough."

She takes in a sharp little breath, running her fingernail along a seam in the wood floor. "Well, I guess I'm glad that you didn't walk in the other direction, "she says brightly. It's supposed to be a joke, he knows, but there's a vulnerable tremor in her voice.

"Huh?"

She lifts her head, giving him a half-smile. "Lake Champlain?" she explains, still attempting to keep her voice light. "Big lake right next to Burlington?" She can't quite hold her smile. Her lip quivers slightly and there's a helpless look in her eyes.

His hands fall to her ankles, his thumbs tracing reassuring circles over the thin cotton of her pajama bottoms. "I could have been standing over Niagara Falls and I still don't think I could have let go of that ring."

"The American side or the Canadian side? Because I hear that it's much more impressive from the Canadian side, so if you had the time to cross the-"

"Lorelai," he cuts in, sliding one hand around to squeeze her hip gently.

She ducks her head and rubs her knuckles across her eyes. When she looks up, her lashes are wet but she's got the makings of a smile on her lips. "You've been carrying this around in your _pants_?" she asks in disbelief. "In your _pants_?"

"You have to stop saying pants like that, or I'm going to have to resort to a 'dirty,'" he teases.

"I just mean, it's not like your wallet or something. You had to decide every day when you got dressed to put that in your pocket." She lifts her eyes to his expectantly, but the way that she captures her lower lips between her teeth betrays her uncertainty.

He can only shrug because he has no explanation. Keeping that ring close has just been something he's needed to do.

"I don't know what to say." Her voice trembles. I'm just…"

"Don't- You don't have to say anything," he whispers, taking her hand gently and folding her fingers around the battered envelope. "Just hold onto it for me? You don't have to…to wear it, if you don't want, but hold onto it?"

She nods as she closes her fist tightly and throws herself into his embrace.

* * *

It's just a few days later and they're snuggled together on Lorelai's couch, watching a movie. Fortunately for Luke, they've moved on from romantic comedies. Tonight, in fact, they're watching an old James Bond movie at his suggestion, the only condition from Lorelai being that it has to be Sean Connery as opposed to Roger Moore. He doesn't tell her, would never admit out loud, that he'd gladly watch the worst movie ever made as long as she's here resting her head against his chest.

Bond is in the middle of being instructed by Q on the procedures for using the latest gadgets when the phone rings. Lorelai reaches for the remote to pause the movie then hops up, saying apologetically over her shoulder, "It might be Rory."

He nods and she smiles back as she picks up the phone and says cheerfully, "Hello."

As she pauses for a response her mouth drops open a bit. "Christopher?" she asks, sounding bewildered. Luke can feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and his fists clench. Lorelai throws him fearful glance before turning slightly away from him. "No, I'm fine," he hears her say politely. "Very good, actually. And you?" There's a pause and when she responds her voice is stiff and uncomfortable. "Okay, good. I'm glad to hear it." She takes a deep breath. "Well, is there some reason for this call?"

It's a very good question, Luke thinks as he holds his head in his hands and waits for her response to Christopher's answer. "Yes I know that…No, we don't have any definite plans yet." Lorelai looks up for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "You don't need to ask my permission to do something for Rory's birthday."

There's another long pause and though Lorelai is holding herself completely still, Luke can see strain in every muscle, as if there's energy humming wildly underneath her skin. When she speaks again, he can hear the tension in her voice.

"No," she protests. "You cannot do this now." She pauses for a moment, her voice low and even. "Do you know how many times when Rory was little I wished you would want to help me make plans for her birthday? It would have been enough for you to just be there, or even to call."

There's sadness in her words, but he can hear her fight back against it with anger, throwing Christopher's suggestions back at him. "But now, you call up out of the blue and want to make plans. You want to throw a party, and buy extravagant presents?" Lorelai stops and shakes her head back and forth a few times and Luke captures a glimpse of the helpless look on her face. "Well, go ahead and do it. She's your kid. And since she's going to be 22 years old and doesn't even live here anymore, you don't need to involve me."

There's another pause and her response this time is firm, composed. "No Christopher, if you really want this, you need to do it without me." She lets out a long, frustrated sigh. "No, not even for Rory."

Her words seem to have been heard, because she says simply, "Bye, Christopher," before returning the phone to its cradle. She takes a few deep breaths, then turns slowly and takes a few steps toward the couch.

"That was-"

"I know."

"I haven't-"

"I know."

Almost a year ago, she'd gotten a call from Christopher, after which he'd basically accused her of cheating on him. As unfair as he'd been then, she'd known that once he cooled off they'd be able to talk rationally.

This time, with recent wounds still fresh and their relationship newly healing, he can see the guilt and fear plainly on her face. He can see her braced for confrontation.

There's something else too: a hopelessness in the slope of her shoulders, as if the phone call had actually robbed Lorelai of some part of her faith. His immediate reaction is to pull her into his arms and he's a little surprised that there's no anger, that he feels only compassion for her.

It makes him stand abruptly and cross the room, quickly skirting the coffee table and couch. When he's closed the space between them, he reaches for her hands, but she pulls away.

"What's wrong?"

"What are you doing?" she asks, alarmed

"I'm trying…" he struggles to explain. "You're upset, I'm trying-"

"You're supposed to be mad," she says sharply.

"Why?"

"He called." There's a note of incredulity in her voice, as though she can't quite believe she has to explain.

"That's not your fault," he insists.

"How do you know? Obviously I didn't make it clear enough."

"Or he's an idiot," Luke responds, matter-of-factly.

In any other situation he'd expect her frustration to come through with a raised voice and wild hand gestures, but right now, though she's clearly upset, she's disturbingly still and calm. Too calm, he thinks, like it's taking all her effort to maintain her composure. "Luke," she says, with just the slightest bit of strain in her voice, "You're not supposed to do this."

He stands there staring at her, his mind muddled. "Do what? I don't even understand what we're arguing about."

"You can't just be okay. You can't be fine with it."

"I'm not _fine_ with it."

"See," she points at him, "you _are_ mad."

He lets out his breath in a frustrated huff. "I'm not mad. I'm upset he's calling because I want him to leave you alone, but I'm a lot more worried about you being upset." He reaches for her again, this time capturing the fingers of her left hand in a loose grasp. "Can we…can we just talk about this."

Her face goes stony. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, let's just," he takes her hand more firmly and gestures toward the couch, "watch the movie."

She tugs her hand away. "I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't do this right now."

"Do what?"

"Pretend like everything is fine." Her voice breaks just a bit. "Pretend like this doesn't bring it all back – everything we've been trying to move past."

"Lorelai, this isn't about that. You're upset. You're upset because he's an asshole and I'm…dammit, I'm here and you can talk to me."

"No, I can't."

"Of course you can."

"No. I can't," she repeats, and he's surprised by the force behind her words. She's still got a tight rein on her emotions, but there's a steely determination in her eyes. "Don't you get that? Not about this. Not now." He's trying to form a response, but she goes on, her voice softer now, "You're either going to try to make me feel better, tell me it's not my fault, which will make me hate myself for putting you in that position. Or, you'll just be reminded of all the reasons you're supposed to hate me, if you haven't been already. And either way there's hate and I don't want to go there, so you have to go before it all gets worse."

"Go?" he stammers. "I'm just supposed to leave?"

"We can finish the movie tomorrow."

His eyes widen as he stares at her, realizing that she's serious, that she really expects him to just leave, even though he can tell that she's about to boil over with resentment and guilt, that even now her left hand is holding her right arm tightly to her abdomen in an effort to keep herself from flailing angrily. And even now she's averting her eyes, hiding from him the fear that's etched into the wrinkles in her brow.

He just shakes his head, unable to respond, and stares at the floor, as if the secret is in the grain of the wood. He hears her say, "Please, Luke?"

Crossing his arms across his chest, Luke says quietly, "We can't just not talk about any of it. Not if this," he gestures between them, "is going to work.

Lorelai gives a little nod of agreement. "I just need a little time. I need to figure some of it out myself."

His breath comes out in a sharp huff. Deep down, he knows he shouldn't let her shut him out like this, but she's looking at him a little desperately and it makes him want to grant her a short reprieve. "So you really want me to leave?" She tips her head down in assent. "And we can talk about this? Soon?"

She nods again.

He lets out a long sigh and steps forward, taking her head in his hands. "If you want me to leave, I will, but you have to understand that this changes nothing. I love you and I'm not angry." He takes a deep breath and gives her a kiss on the forehead. "And I'll see you tomorrow." The last comes out firmly, somewhere between a demand and a question, and he's relieved when she nods silently in agreement.

He gives her one more kiss, then backs away and gives her a long look before saying "Goodnight, Lorelai," and walking out the door.

_To be continued_


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, but I'm going to borrow them a little bit longer.

**Author's Note**: Thank you so much for all of your wonderful feedback on this story and this series. I know that I haven't been able to update as often as I'd like, but I'm glad everyone is still hanging in. There will be one chapter following this one just as soon as I can finish writing it. And again, **iheartbridges**, **CineFille** and **Lula Bo** are the best.

* * *

He's been feeling a little jittery lately, not in a spaced-out, caffeine-high kind of way, but like there's an extra bit of energy humming in his muscles, and in his bones. It's pleasant and warm and it's only his curiosity about where it's coming from that makes him think about it at all.

It's developed somewhat gradually as he and Lorelai have continued to move forward in their relationship and as he's worked to make room in his life for both her and his daughter. Things had been going better than he could have imagined until Christopher called and sent Lorelai into a tailspin, questioning everything from their relationship to her own failures as a mother.

They've talked since, having the kind of conversation where admissions and confessions become the glue that holds two people more tightly together. He'd known as they had talked that she was speaking fears aloud that she'd never told anyone else, and it had been both heartbreaking and reassuring to hear them, and to be able to admit some of his own.

It had shifted something between them, to talk like that. In the wake of that conversation and the dinner with Lorelai's parents the following night, the patterns they've developed undergo subtle changes.

So far, they've only spent the night at her house, but one night when Luke reminds her of an early morning delivery, instead of heading home alone, she stays with him above the diner. And though he's become accustomed to spending more and more time at her house, now they no longer need a reason or a plan to stay the night together. It just happens. And they let it.

With all of the time he spends at Lorelai's, he leaves more of himself behind with each visit. At first, every item was intentional: sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in, shampoo to replace the empty bottle, a few cooking necessities that Lorelai's kitchen lacked. Now though, he doesn't think about every pair of jeans or flannel shirt that ends up in Lorelai's laundry or about the kitchen gadgets he brings with him that get put away in her cabinets.

New routines develop too: Saturday dinner becomes a time when he cooks a special dinner for Lorelai when April's not with him and for both April and Lorelai when she is. He starts taking Sunday mornings off, which means a full-out breakfast for him and April or long, lazy mornings in bed with Lorelai.

With all of these little shifts and fine changes, it takes him a while to identify the weird humming. It takes him a while to recognize that he's restless. That the guy who last spring couldn't figure out how to be a father and a fiancé at the same time now can't wait to get married. Actually, at this point, he'd be happy to be engaged. Really engaged – with a date and a plan - not this 'ring-around-the-neck' limbo that they're in.

It's not until he recognizes and names his own eagerness that he can clearly see that Lorelai is _not_ restless, to the point of being atypically serene. It gives him pause until he realizes that if he's come full circle perhaps she has as well. They're no longer the same people – not the broken woman who self-destructed outside the diner, nor the man who failed to see the deterioration. They're two people who are finally seeing a way forward together.

Her discovery of the ring could have been an opportunity to solidify that, but at the time she'd been so overwhelmed that he hadn't explicitly suggested it. And the fact that she began wearing it around her neck seemed to imply that she wasn't quite ready yet. So he's let himself focus on the present, the ease with which they have become a couple again.

Until Christopher finds his way between them. Again. In retrospect, he thinks he understands her over-the-top reaction. Christopher has always been more trouble than he's worth, but she'd been carrying around the guilt about going to him the night of the ultimatum for months.

What he would never have foreseen was the responsibility she'd taken on for the failure of Rory and her father to develop a relationship. For years, Luke had watched him stroll in and out of their lives, playing on some very real affection they held for each other. But for Lorelai to twist that around into a failure on her part had made his blood boil, had made it such that Luke could finally admit, to himself and to Lorelai, how much he hated Christopher.

It had been a turning point, that talk. He'd been able to give her some small measure of absolution and she'd made way for him to share his anger, at Anna, at Christopher. All of it has made them, if possible, even more solid and in tune with each other, giving in all kinds of little ways. They check in with each other more often during the day, even if it's just Lorelai letting him know that she's busy at the inn and won't be able to stop by for lunch. And he takes that as an opportunity to bring her lunch and the ever-present coffee. He notices her making an effort to keep her room neat, because even though he hasn't said anything, she knows her clutter drives him crazy. And he exchanges the screens in her windows for the storm windows without waiting for her to ask.

It's all such an easy rhythm they've settled into that's he's reluctant to upset the balance.

And, of course, there's April. He's not using her presence as an excuse this time, like he admits he'd done last spring, but he does want her to gradually get comfortable with Lorelai, with spending time with her, with the idea of them being a family. So the three of them have eased into some regular routines: the Saturday night dinners when April stays for the weekend, and casual weeknight dinners at the diner.

And, he knows, the two of them adore each other. But will that still be the case when they share a home, when Lorelai is a permanent part of his life? He's probably being ridiculous; there's been absolutely nothing to indicate any problem between them. It's just that he loves them both beyond measure and wants to know that it will all work out because he couldn't bear to lose either one of them. So, as impatient as he is for them to become a family, he just tries to bring them together in the best way he knows how without pushing them so quickly forward that they risk stumbling.

One family routine he's not looking to eagerly, but rather with apprehension, is April's first (of many, he thinks with resignation) Friday night dinner. For April's part, she's intrigued, having only heard the more lighthearted and absurd anecdotes from Lorelai about her parents.

Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised that April is not nervous. She rarely seems to be anxious about anything – except for the occasional mention of boys. He's nervous. He's seen first-hand the way that Richard and Emily can make someone feel as if they're not worth the space they take up on Earth. He doesn't want to subject April to anything that would make her feel less confident.

But perhaps that's it after all, he realizes as he watches his daughter all night. There's almost nothing that makes April feel insecure. Apparently, not even Emily Gilmore.

What he could not have ever predicted even if he'd been gifted with supernatural powers is the way that April and Emily take to each other. From the moment that they walk into the house and April holds out her hand and says, "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Gilmore, Mr. Gilmore," Luke notices something in Emily's expression. She's impressed, and surprised to be so. And with that thought Luke can't help but smirk internally at the elder Gilmores.

They head into the living room, making small talk while Richard fixes their respective drinks. Emily clearly seems most interested in talking to April. After checking in briefly with her daughter about the inn and Rory about her classes, she turns to April and says, "Your father tells us that you've been spending more time with him recently. What do you think of their little town?" She doesn't seem to be able to keep a touch of condescension from her tone, but Luke is sure that April doesn't notice.

"Oh, it's great. Everything is so small and friendly and, well, you haven't really seen true improvisational comedy unless you've been to a Stars Hollow town meeting."

Emily seems to not quite know how to respond to that, simply nodding and saying, "That sounds…quaint." Then she turns to Luke. "Are you still living in that apartment above the diner?"

"Yes," he answers cautiously.

"Is that enough space for you now that April is spending the night sometimes? It doesn't seem as though it would be big enough for the two of you."

"Well, I separated off a section so that April would have her own room and we seem to be managing okay." He glances over in his daughter's direction. "Right?"

"Oh, totally. And Lorelai helped us paint it and then I took my dad out to Target to get some accessories to liven up the place. But you know what?"

April pauses dramatically and Emily lifts her eyebrow curiously, asking, "What?"

"He'd never been to Target! Can you even imagine that? Living this long and never having been to Target before?"

"That _is_ hard to imagine," Emily answers with a completely straight face, though Luke can see an amused glint in her eye. It's hard to believe, but he's never seen her look quite so intrigued before. Sharing a glance with Lorelai, he notices that she looks as baffled as he feels.

He's so distracted, wondering at Emily's behavior, that he almost misses her next question, which is directed at him. "Have you considered moving to a bigger place, a house perhaps?"

It shouldn't be such a hard question to answer. He's been working on the assumption that he'd eventually move into Lorelai's place, like they'd planned over a year ago, but since they haven't officially talked about it he doesn't want to bring it up in this company. Looking up a little helplessly, he sees Rory hiding a smile and Lorelai wearing a sympathetic expression. "Well, uh," he hesitates, "I guess we haven't really thought that far ahead yet." It's not until he says 'we' that he realizes that he's not referring to him and April, but actually him and Lorelai. He lifts his eyes to Lorelai's, unable to interpret the strange look she gives him.

He's hoping Emily will drop the subject, but she doesn't let up. Even Richard seems to be watching the conversation with interest. "But eventually, of course," she insists, "you'll need more space."

"I assume so," Luke starts, but before he can continue, he is interrupted by Lorelai.

"Mom," she says, a touch sharply, "he doesn't have to decide this instant. It's not like there's a 'For Rent' sign in his window and he and April are going to be sleeping in a cardboard box tomorrow."

"Lorelai," Richard interjects, "your mother is simply curious. There's no need to bicker over this."

Lorelai sighs. "Dad, I'm not. I just…" She glances at Emily and Luke sees something pass between mother and daughter, a look of understanding in Emily's eyes and a relaxing of Lorelai's features as she breathes out what looks to be a sigh of relief. Luke makes a mental note to ask Lorelai about that later as Emily gives a 'take charge' smile and changes the subject.

"Did we tell you about the trip Richard and I are planning to Prague? Since we have to work around Richard's class schedule at Yale we can't do Europe properly this time so we decided to focus on one city instead."

For the next few minutes, Emily regales them with highlights from their itinerary and Rory peppers both grandparents with questions about their sightseeing plans. When the maid announces dinner, they all head to the dining room and Emily directs them to their seats, Luke and Lorelai on the far side of the table and April and Rory next to each other opposite them. Luke wonders if it's intentional that Emily has seated April closest to her or if she'd even given it much thought at all.

They've just been served their entrees, and even though Luke doesn't eat much red meat he knows that the cost of the beef tenderloin sitting on their plates could probably feed a family of four for several days. As they begin eating, Emily turns to April. "I hear you've been working on a science fair project about fishing." She says the last word with a note of disbelief, as if she can't imagine what there possibly could be to study about it. Looking up, Lorelai eyes her mother suspiciously, poised, like a mother tiger ready to pounce. Luke senses that Lorelai's intervention is unnecessary, but he's touched at the gesture nonetheless.

Predictably, April's reaction is as animated as it always is when she's talking about one of her passions. "Yeah. I got the idea when we were at the cabin this summer and I was trying to figure out where the best place to catch fish would be. I thought I might be able to use the pH and dissolved oxygen data I collected, but it wasn't really a controlled enough experiment, so I'm trying to figure out how to create pH and dissolved oxygen gradients within a regular fish tank.

"What exactly are you trying to find out?" Emily probes.

"Mom, why don't you let her eat? She hasn't been able to take a bite yet."

"It's okay, Lorelai. I _love_ talking about my project," April says easily.

"See Lorelai, _April_ is very happy to tell me about what is happening in her life."

Lorelai slumps back in her chair, poking absently at her potatoes and Emily looks triumphant.

Before April gets any further in her explanation, Richard makes an inquiry about the diner and they talk business for a few minutes. When the topic shifts to the economics class that Richard is teaching and Rory is taking Luke redirects his attention to the other end of the table, where April is describing her project in more detail. "Since they're vertebrates I have to make sure the conditions are not harmful to the fish." She shrugs, spreading her hands as she talks. "If I were studying slugs, no problem, but as soon as they have a backbone there are all sorts of restrictions. But I wouldn't really have wanted to know the most ideal conditions to attract slugs."

"Certainly not," Emily agrees, her lips curling in distaste. "So, what precautions have you had to take?"

As April answers and Emily continues to ask surprisingly intelligent questions about the experimental design, Luke smiles with pride at the way his daughter is holding her own with Lorelai's mother.

Every once in a while, Emily's gaze slides over toward him and then back to his daughter and he imagines that she's wondering how April could be related to him, at what strange combination of genes would result in someone with an intelligence so different from her father's, and from all of them actually. She's logical, analytical, always asking questions and looking for the evidence that answers them. He finds her personality refreshing and it's given him a new way to view the world. Perhaps that's what interests Emily; she seems to enjoy April's open frankness, the way she doesn't shy away from Emily's questions.

Emily also appears to be relishing the fact that every time Lorelai tries to 'save' April from Emily, April tells her it's okay, that she likes talking about her project. "She's not bugging me, Lorelai."

For April's part, the only way he can explain her ease is that she's not implicitly wary, that she's probably the only one in the room not wondering if there's some underlying motive for Emily's questions.

Regardless the reason, he continues to be surprised at the way they've connected. By the end of the night he's beginning to think that more than anything, beyond an unexpected meshing of personalities that much of what he sees is a new determination in Emily to stay close to the people that Lorelai is close to.

And so, as strange as the whole night has been, he's encouraged in a way he's never been on a return trip from Hartford.

* * *

Later, as Lorelai and Rory head home from the diner after a few cups of coffee and April finishes her Coke, Luke tries to process the night. Between Emily's strange connection to April and the revelation Lorelai had dropped on him as she sat at the counter sipping her coffee – that her parents not only wanted to buy them a home, but had even picked one out – his head is spinning. He's a little relieved to be able to focus on the mindless tasks associated with closing up the diner.

Try as he might though, he can't still his thoughts, can't stop that restless feeling that keeps him pacing and puttering, unable to relax. He wonders again when he became 'this' guy, when he lost his complacency.

Finally, April's voice interrupts his thoughts, "I was going to head upstairs, Dad. You almost done down here?"

He glances down at the rag in his hand and the coffeemaker he's cleaning for the third time, giving a sheepish smile. "No, I'm…uh…done."

They're heading up the stairs to his apartment when April asks, "So, Lorelai and Rory have dinner with Lorelai's parents every Friday?"

"Yeah."

She tilts her head to the side, a wistful expression on her face. "That seems like a nice tradition."

He tries. He really tries not to chuckle, but he's been there since the Friday Night Dinner 'tradition' started, and if Lorelai's (and his own) experiences have been any judge, 'nice' is not the best word to describe the weekly dinners.

April glances at him curiously as they walk inside and she plops down on the couch. "What's so funny?"

He pauses, choosing his words carefully as he pulls down two glasses from the cabinet and fills them with water before walking over and taking a seat on the couch as well. "Lorelai's relationship with her parents is…" He stops, taking in a breath and letting it out slowly. "Strained," he finishes. "She agreed to the Friday Night Dinner for Rory's benefit," which is close enough to the full truth, he decides, "but she doesn't always get along all that well with her parents."

"I guess I noticed some of that," she says, looking thoughtful. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her dad, but her mom was great."

This time he's able to stifle his laugh before it makes it all the way out. He's still not completely sure what to make of the April/Emily dynamic. "I'm glad you had a good time at dinner," he manages.

"So when you and Lorelai get married are we going to go to Friday Night Dinner with them whenever I'm here?"

It's a battle then between sputtering a response to the straightforward way that April assumes they're getting married and repressing his shock that anyone could be so enthusiastic about returning to the elder Gilmore house. He's finally able to stammer out, "When we get…you want to go back?"

He'd spent too long in his head though, mentally debating her question, so by the time he's got the words out his daughter is backpedaling. "I mean, if that's okay. Mrs. Gilmore did say that she'd love to have us back, but maybe she was just being polite."

"Well, she was being polite, but I think she actually meant it," he assures her.

"Good." She gives him a long look then. "You _are_ going to marry Lorelai, right? I figure you'd have told me if you'd chosen a date, but eventually you two are going to get married, right?"

"That's the long-term plan," he says vaguely.

She narrows her eyes a bit. "How long-term?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long before you guys, I don't know, decide, and start planning the wedding?"

He shrugs, reluctant to admit out loud that he's been wondering exactly that.

"Is there some reason you're waiting?"

"No, we're just making sure that everything is right before we dive in again." He takes a sip of water, staring into his glass as he tilts it slowly back and forth, then shifting his gaze to meet her eyes. "I also wanted to give you time to adjust."

April's brow furrows. "Adjust to what?"

"I don't know, spending time with Lorelai…"

"What's there to adjust to? Lorelai's great."

He has to smile at that, first of all because it's true, and at the matter-of-fact way that April is looking at him.

"Well," he starts, hesitant, "if…when we get married, I'd probably move into her house, which means-"

"Which means that when I visit, I'll stay there." She shrugs. "I kind of figured that. I mean, I guess I'd have to work it out with Rory, but if she's not there I could probably stay in her room."

"Of course. I'm sure that would be fine with her." He looks April in the eye. "So, that would be okay with you, if I lived at Lorelai's house?"

"Well, it would be better than her moving in here."

"Right, well obviously." He then offers what may have suddenly become another option. "You know, it's also possible that we would move to a different house, still nearby, but bigger, so that you could have your own room."

"Well, that would be cool too. Then I wouldn't have to get in Rory's way. I just," she looks at him curiously, "did you really think I'd have a problem with this?"

He shrugs. "Not really. I guess I just didn't want to overwhelm you with changes all at once. I mean, you just started staying with me, so-"

She cuts him off. "Okay, I get it, but you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. Really. Go ahead and marry Lorelai already."

And then he grins, because he can't think of anything he'd rather do.

* * *

Because she asked, April's gotten him thinking about not only a real engagement, but also the whens and wheres of a wedding itself. One of the days that April visits, to her pleasant surprise, he utilizes some of the computer skills she's been teaching him over the last few months to make some inquiries.

The ideas and anticipation make him jumpier than usual, so he's a little relieved that Lorelai is preoccupied with plans for a girl's night and spa day to celebrate Rory's birthday. Watching her when she's with Rory and in those moments when she's quiet and alone, he can tell that there's still some residual sadness surrounding Rory's birthday. It's like a symbol of everything Rory's missed out on and though he knows that she excited for a chance to spend some quality time with her daughter, it's clear that there's still some lingering regret over the way that her relationship with Christopher has affected their ability to simply be Rory's parents.

After Lorelai and Rory's day of pampering, Lorelai returns home flush with enthusiasm, but alone, Rory having headed back to New Haven for her party. Following their new Saturday tradition, Luke has prepared an all-out dinner at Lorelai's house, which they enjoy while Lorelai tells tales of her day, her smiles a touch brittle.

By the time they've finished eating, however, the forced animation has faded and Lorelai lets Luke fold her into his arms. "You know, if you want, you could still go?" he whispers into her ear as she wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder.

She sighs. "Am I _that_ pathetic?"

"No but…" he pauses, choosing his words, "if you think you shouldn't go because of me. If you think it would bother me, you don't need to worry about that. I don't want you to cut off all contact with Rory's dad."

Her arms still tight around his neck, she leans her head back to meet his eyes and gives it a small shake. "No, I know that and I have no intention of cutting off contact, but some Rory/Dad time without me around can't hurt just now."

"Okay," he says, nodding.

She gives him a playful smirk. "Now, if you're worried I'm disappointed you should feel free to distract me with some crazy decadent chocolate dessert."

"I can think of plenty of ways to distract you." He can feel his voice low and soft in his throat and Lorelai smiles at the suggestive tone.

"Really?" she teases, tilting her head to the side. "I can't imagine what ideas you might have."

He lets his fingers graze down her back and kisses the hollow just below her earlobe.

"Ah," she sighs, "now I see, but first…" She kisses him lightly. "Fess up. I know you brought dessert."

They do share a ridiculously rich chocolate torte and then engage in some 'other' quite pleasant distractions. Luke is pleased that he's able to entice genuine smiles and laughter.

Over the next days, in spite of her sadness, her time with Rory seems to have brought Lorelai a sense of peace, of resolution. He's not exactly sure what they've said to each other, but it's as if a weight has been lifted off Lorelai's shoulders, brightening her mood and making her smiles freer.

And because of that, he can see the road clearing, obstacles dropping out of sight. That everything that has caused them pain is finally behind them, and he knows immediately that it's time.

* * *

It will be tonight, he decides, surprised that as sure as he is, he's still nervous. But he's ready and it's time to make sure she knows that. Once he's resolved, he makes a few phone calls following up on some earlier inquiries, then calls Lorelai to solidify the vague plans they'd made earlier to see a movie. 

And, try as he might, he can't keep from smiling all day.

They head home after eighties night at the Black, White and Read, and though he hesitates ever so slightly to have this moment associated with a movie called _Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo_, he has no intention of putting off this step any longer. When they return to her house, he takes her hand as they go up to the bedroom. Inside, he pulls her to face him, holding her hand loosely as he grazes his fingers down her cheek and presses a soft kiss to her lips. She leans in, willing, eager, and he kisses her again. He stops her when she starts to pull him back toward the bed, reaching to rest his wrists on her shoulders and his fingers on the back of her neck. Her eyes are wide and luminous as he finds the clasp of her necklace, loosens it, and then slides the ring off the chain into his palm. She waits while he refastens the necklace and then slides his fingers down to grab her hand. Lifting it he holds the platinum band next to her ring finger, whispering, "May I?"

She nods, her face breaking into a wide tremulous smile and her hand shaking a bit as he slides the ring onto her finger. Once it's in place, she closes her fist and looks down at the ring, biting her lip before reaching her arms around his neck and kissing him. It's soft and sweet and endless, but before he gets totally lost in it he pulls her over to sit next to him on the bed.

"So, here's the deal," he starts.

She lifts her eyebrow curiously, but stays silent.

"You've got three options." He takes a breath. "I checked with Reverend Skinner and he's available Saturday. We could have a small ceremony with just the family, in the yard or something." He looks up at her shyly, "Maybe under the chuppah?"

She gulps. "Saturday?"

"Or," he says quickly, worried now that he's jumped too quickly forward, "I reserved the Dragonfly for a month from now, if you want time to plan something a little bigger. Or," he pauses, taking her hand in his and running his thumb over her palm, "we can do it whenever you want, however you want." He looks at her hesitantly, and he can see her surprise softening into warmth and delight.

"I think I can wait until Saturday," she says softly, and before he knows what he's doing his arms are tight around her waist and he's pulling her toward him, turning so that she is snug against his chest and he can plant kisses across her lips, cheeks, jaw, brow, temple with an enthusiasm that leaves her laughing. He takes her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly and whispering, "I love you."

"I love _you_," she says softly, but with emphasis. She glances down at the ring and back up at him, "So, Saturday, huh?"

"Unless that's too soon," he says anxiously. "It doesn't have to be Saturday."

"Because you booked the Dragonfly, right?" she teases. Giving him a soft smile, she adds, "Don't worry, Saturday is perfect."

"Good," he says, leaning in for another kiss.

Before his lips touch hers, she pulls back, her face scrunched in confusion. "Wait! You booked the Dragonfly?"

He shrugs. "Yeah."

"How could I not know this? _I_ book the events for the Dragonfly."

"I know." He gives a proud smirk. "You booked it."

"What? How?"

"You booked a 25th anniversary party for Robert Johnson and his wife Madeleine," he explains.

Lorelai's brow wrinkles in thought. "But I booked that one over e-mail."

He nods knowingly.

Her mouth falls open in shock. "_You_ used email?"

"April set me up with a gmail account one weekend when she stayed over and then I was able to create another account to book the party."

"Well aren't you the technological guru?" She's looking at him in awe and he's ridiculously proud of himself for pulling it off. "So the Johnsons aren't having a party after all?"

"No." A thought occurs to him. "I hope I didn't keep you from getting another reservation for that day."

"No big deal." She lifts one hand and waves it at him. "In fact, we might want to keep it on the books."

"Why?"

"I'm quite sure that a backyard/front yard/whatever wedding will not suffice for Emily."

He face falls. "Oh."

"Oh, don't worry about it," she says reassuringly, running her hand down over his shoulder.

"Really?" he asks cautiously.

She nods. "Really." She quirks her mouth to the side, thinking. "But Luke, what about April? She's not with you this weekend."

"I think that I'll be able to work it out with Anna so that she can come over Friday and stay for the wedding." Lorelai looks skeptical, and he explains. "I didn't give her any specific details, but I asked if it might be possible to be a little flexible about the weekends, if something came up."

"Okay. And something came up?"

He grins. "It certainly did."

"So, if you've engineered this whole thing, does that mean that you've planned out the time and the guest list and everything too?"

"Well, I was just thinking sometime Saturday morning and that we'd invite our families, and Sookie and Jackson if you want."

"Sounds good. So, does that mean that we'll have my mother and T.J. in the same place at the same time?"

He gives a wry smile. "Looks like."

"Do you think the space-time continuum will survive?"

He chuckles. "I sure hope so. It would suck if our wedding caused the end of the world." She just smiles, and he continues, "So, I was thinking that we could go somewhere for the rest of the weekend, Monday too, if you can get it off. Maybe the Vineyard or New York or something? I'm sorry we can't do something more, but…" He gives her an apologetic shrug.

Before he can continue, she asks, "How about your cabin?"

"The cabin? You want to go to the cabin?"

She smiles softly, "Yeah, I just want to have you all to myself for a couple of days."

"Whatever you want," he says, pulling her close again, resting his chin on her head and smoothing her hair with his fingers.

They stay like that for long moments, breathing out contented sighs. He's just given her one more squeeze when she pulls back and looks up at him, her eyes huge. "We're getting _married_."

"We are at that."

"I guess it's probably about damn time."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** It's really hard to say goodbye to this story (which might be why I've been sitting on it for the last few days). It's occupied a significant part of my brain for more than a year now and I've learned so much from writing it. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and for sticking with my confusing format long past when other writers finished their post-finales (and went on to begin other post-finales). It means a great deal to me to have had all the support and I hope you like the way this wraps up.

**KineFille**, **Lula Bo**, and **iheartbridges, **I really can't thank you all enough for sticking with me (and all of my neuroses) until the bitter end. This really and truly would not have been the same story without you. Thank you so much for having been a part of this.

* * *

Luke wakes up the morning after their impromptu engagement with Lorelai snuggled next to him, her breaths still deep and slow, and her lips curved into a relaxed, sleepy smile. Her hands are clasped together in front of her, and he watches as the early morning light glints off the ring on her left hand. He can scarcely believe that, come Saturday, he'll be putting another ring on her finger. Closing his eyes in anticipation - and simultaneously adding wedding rings to the mental to-do list - he lets out a long gratified sigh.

He's still debating whether to pull her into his arms and hug her tight or to let her rest, when her eyes drift lazily open. "Morning," she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

"Good morning," he says softly before leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. He pulls back and takes her hands in his, and her drowsy smile grows wider as she glances down to where he is subconsciously running his thumb back and forth across the ring.

"You ready for Saturday?" she asks.

"Absolutely. You?"

"I am. I really, really am," she says, her voice soft and sure. She's been so content to just be these last weeks that he'd worried he might be rushing her, but now, seeing her quiet confidence, it's obvious she's as ready as he is.

"Good," he says, smiling warmly and lifting one hand to run the backs of this fingers along her jawline before letting out a long breath. "Speaking of which, I should get going. In addition to making sure Kirk gets properly fed today, I've got to make a few calls, set up a few things."

Lorelai chuckles. "Look at you, 'Mr. Planning a Wedding in Five Days'."

"There _is_ a lot to do."

"I know. How about I come by the diner for lunch and we make a to-do list that would do Rory proud?"

"Sounds good." He gives her another kiss. "Go back to sleep. You'll need your strength later."

"You mean when I voluntarily call my mother to see if we can stop by to 'tell them something' - like you insisted, I might add," she says, pointing at his chest, "or when I tell Sookie she's got five days to come up with our wedding menu?" Smiling wryly at him, she adds, "Just be glad you're dealing with Kirk instead."

* * *

Later that morning, one of the first calls he makes is to Anna, asking if he can stop by to run something by her. It sounds like he's caught her off-guard, but she agrees, and during his mid-morning lull he drives over to her shop in Woodbridge.

It's been a couple of weeks since he'd talked to Anna and floated the idea of switching some of April's weekend days around if necessary. At the time she'd seemed, if not thrilled at the prospect, at least open to the possibility. Now that he's got a specific request, though, he's worried she'll deny him all together, or that in exchange she'll keep April from coming to the _Project Runway_ finale party she's been planning with Lorelai and Rory (which she's really excited about, he grudgingly admits to himself).

Surprisingly, however, she doesn't put up a fight, instead simply stresses the special circumstances of the situation, as if to imply that he shouldn't expect the same kind of flexibility on a regular basis.

He just nods as she glances around her small shop. "Well, I should…" she gestures toward a customer browsing in the corner, "get back to work."

Luke had just nodded. "Of course." He pauses then, smiling. "And Anna? Thank you."

She gives him a small smile and shrugs. "It's not every day you get married."

He thanks her one last time, then walks out the door, relieved at Anna's uncharacteristic willingness to bend and at the way that some of the final obstacles between him and Lorelai are crumbling around them.

By the time he gets back to the diner, it's almost time for lunch. He gets through the busiest part of the rush, then sits down with Lorelai for a few minutes to make their to-do list. Before she leaves she lets him know that they're expected for cocktails with her parents. "But not dinner," she clarifies. "My mother was very clear that they couldn't change their plans for such a _last minute_ request."

He grimaces; even knowing that her parents have been more tolerant of him lately, he's still nervous about making this announcement to them.

Lorelai stands up. "And now, I've got to go. Sookie has gone into super freak-out mode about the wedding dinner. She's been experimenting all morning, and I just know that she's going to accidentally serve balsamic cream sauce over the raspberry truffle cheesecake if I don't get back to watch her."

Knowing Sookie, Luke has no trouble imagining that particular scenario. Laughing, he offers, "You know, if it's too much for her, we can hire another caterer."

"And have her take up voodoo so that she can start practicing on me?" Lorelai jokes. "No thanks." Her expression grows serious. "The thing is, she wants to do it and it's only, what, fourteen people? " She sighs. "But you know Sookie."

"Yeah, I do," he agrees. "So, I'll pick you up at the inn?"

"Sounds good," Lorelai says, leaning in for a kiss before heading out the door. "I'll be the one muttering like Dustin Hoffman in _Rainman_, practicing comebacks for all of the possible complaints my mother will have."

Luke spends the remainder of the afternoon - when he's not serving a particularly large flood of lunchtime customers - confirming plans with Reverend Skinner, playing phone tag as he attempts to track down Jess, listening to April fret multiple times over the phone about not having anything appropriate to wear, and listening to several rounds of 'Finally!' and 'What took you so long?' when he invites Liz and T.J. When it's time to change and go pick up Lorelai, he's almost relieved to be leaving the diner, even though it means facing Lorelai's parents.

She jokes one last time before getting in the truck that they don't need to do this, that they could call, or email, send a smoke signal even. He just shakes his head while she settles into her seat.

Lorelai is quiet as they set out, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as Luke watches her. He knows she'd never admit to it, but he can see optimism in the nervous smile she gives him when he catches her eye. Her relationship with her parents has bruised her in more ways than one and this time, he thinks, she's hoping for their goodwill, their happiness for her.

Her words come suddenly out of the silence. "She's going to want to plan it, you know." He glances over at her and she's looking at him across her shoulder.

"What's to plan? We've got a few things on our to-do list, but it's not like she can talk Sookie off her ledge."

"Flowers," Lorelai says abruptly.

"What?"

"Flowers."

"But that's not even _on_ our list," he protests.

"Which will make my mother fourteen kinds of crazy." She's still looking at him sideways and her head tips forward a bit as she pauses. "So she can do them." Nodding slightly, she continues speaking, but softly this time, as if she's mumbling to herself. "She'll insist on doing something and this way we won't have to fight about it. She can just do the flowers. Check." She mimics checking something off a list and he sees her let out a breath, relieved to be prepared, with one possible objection already addressed.

It's broken the ice, at least, and so they're able to talk lightly all the way there, Luke filling her in on April's wardrobe concerns and describing Liz's hysterics when he'd told her about the wedding.

When they pull into the driveway and Luke turns off the engine, they both look at each other and take exaggerated breaths before getting out of the truck. Lorelai reaches for his hand as they walk to the door and when he takes it he gives it a squeeze, feeling the sharp stone of her ring and giving her a reassuring smile.

Emily comes to the door herself, ushering them in and handing their coats off to the maid. "There you are," she says, the 'finally' unspoken, though they've arrived at exactly the time specified. "Richard is already in the living room, mixing up the martinis. I'm not sure we have any beer, Luke. We weren't planning on having you two stop by today."

He pauses ever so slightly, because he's never really understood the appeal of a martini, but after one look at Lorelai's tightly clenched fists he decides that he can be assertive about his drink choice another time. "That's fine," he says quickly. "A martini is fine."

There's a short flurry of activity around distributing the drinks and getting everyone settled on chairs and sofas. When everyone is comfortably seated and in possession of a martini, Emily says abruptly, "Well, you had something to tell us, I believe."

Lorelai nods, then glances over at Luke uncertainly before turning back to look at her parents. "Mom, Dad." She takes a breath and continues, "We, Luke and I, I mean, are…we're getting married." Her eyes are anxious, apprehensive as she waits a beat, then goes on, "I know we've been sort of vague about our future, but it's definite now and we have a plan and a time and I know it's late notice, but we really hope you'll be able to come."

Luke recognizes the full-out babble mode that is Lorelai's way of filling empty air when she's tense. She's taking a breath, about to launch into another stream of words, when Emily cuts in. "When?"

Startled, Lorelai looks up, "What?"

Emily asks again, enunciating her words precisely. "_When_ are you getting married?"

Lorelai chuckles uncertainly. "Oh, that would be helpful, wouldn't it? It's Saturday morning," she says, biting her lip as she glances between her parents. Luke gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and she clarifies, "This Saturday."

"That is rather quick," Richard points out.

Emily eyes Luke suspiciously, "There isn't any particular reason you're in a hurry, is there?"

He flushes involuntarily, "No, it's not like that. We-"

"It's just," Lorelai jumps in, "once we decided, there didn't seem to be any point in waiting."

"Except to give you time to plan a proper wedding." Emily sniffs disapprovingly. "But I suppose you're having some sort of bohemian ceremony conducted by someone who's been ordained by the Universal Church of Pop Music?"

"Well, we're going to-" Lorelai starts.

"Oh, I'll read the details when the invitation arrives."

"But there aren't…" Lorelai tries to interject, but Emily appears not to hear her.

"For now, I'll have to start with canceling our plans for Saturday. Richard, it was the Hillborns we were to be dining with at the club, is that correct?"

"Yes," he agrees, "but I'm sure they'll understand our need to reschedule."

Emily sighs. "Of course they will. They're very gracious, but it still won't look good backing out at this late date." Looking back over at her daughter, she asks, "When did you say that invitation would arrive?"

"It just did," Lorelai replies. "I invited you. You're invited. Yay!" She holds her closed fists up in a gesture of celebration, to which Emily shakes her head and Richard sighs.

"It's a wedding, Lorelai," Emily's reaction has got that 'surely I taught you better than this' tone to it. "A printed invitation is customary."

"Mom, there are going to be fourteen people at this wedding, and that includes me and Luke, so it seems ridiculous to get invitations made." Luke can read the agitation in Lorelai's words, can sense the way that her nervousness has shifted over to tightly controlled frustration at her mother's less-than-warm reaction to their announcement. Oddly though, the fact that her parents – and her mother in particular – are acting like their typical selves seems to have made her more confident, determined, at the same time. He reaches up to rest his hand between her shoulder blades, his fingers lightly rubbing the base of her neck.

Emily just shakes her head. "Really, Lorelai, I don't know where you get these ideas about how to run an event.

"Emily," Richard speaks up, his tone soothing, "Lorelai has planned countless parties for the inn. I'm quite sure it will be lovely."

Luke can see Lorelai's tension melt away briefly into a surprised, heartfelt smile. "It will, Dad. Sookie is making all the food, so it will be fabulous. We're going to use the chuppah in the front yard. Rory and April will be there." She looks over at her mother, saying calmly, "And Luke and I would really like it if you and Dad could be there." She glances over at Luke and he nods in agreement.

"Well, of course we'll be there," Emily says, sounding just a bit put upon. After a moment she sighs. "It's so unfortunate that we have this event tonight and can't invite you to stay." It's a less than subtle hint, and Lorelai picks up her purse as if to leave.

Richard looks a little beleaguered at the idea of a night of rubbery chicken and uninspired speeches. "Surely we could miss just this one charity event," he says hopefully. "It's not as though they don't have our money already."

"And leave the table unfilled? Certainly not," Emily protests. "It would be a personal insult to Constance to have our spots empty like that."

"Well, we couldn't have that," Richard says wryly.

"We'll, uh, get going then," Luke says, taking Lorelai's hand. "Thanks for letting us stop by. We just wanted to let you know about the wedding in person."

"Thank you for that," Richard says, reaching to shake Luke's hand.

"Yes, we do appreciate you sharing the news," Emily says in a tone that approaches courteous. As they walk to the front door she can't, however, seem to help adding, "Perhaps it will allow me enough time to figure out what one wears to an impromptu front yard wedding. Please tell me that you will at least have a proper dress."

"Yes, Mom," Lorelai says with a sigh, "I have a dress I think even you will approve of, and Luke is going to wear a suit."

Emily looks a little chastened and Richard jumps in to extend a round of congratulations while Luke just nods and says, "We look forward to seeing you on Saturday."

When they've finished exchanging their goodbyes and the door has closed behind them, Luke wraps his arm around Lorelai's shoulders, tugging her close to him as they head for the car.

All in all, Luke thinks, the gathering has been harder than it should be. Lorelai's parents have seemed so changed lately in their attitude toward the relationship, especially Emily, that he knows Lorelai hoped they'd be able to get past their typical criticism and accept the news warmly. And though she'd put up a strong front inside the house, now that they're alone he can see that the hesitant optimism she'd had on the ride over is gone, leaving her deflated.

In the car, she slumps against the passenger door, still except for the strand of hair that she twirls tightly around her finger. He makes a few attempts to talk to her, but she's close-lipped, not exactly short with him, but definitely reserved. When they pull up to her house, it's the first time in a long time he feels like he has to ask if she wants him to stay. When he does ask, she turns and gives him that sheepish half-smile of hers, as though she's just realized how withdrawn she's been, and at her nod he follows her inside.

They'd intended to do some planning work for the wedding after this dinner, but he's not sure she's in the mood. He asks and, sighing heavily, she agrees, falling down on one end of the couch as he takes a seat on the other end and spreads out a few papers on the coffee table. She's prickly as they work through a few things on the to-do list, impatient. He even suggests postponing their discussion, but that makes her defensive, as if by letting him worry over her, she'd have to admit how much her parents have injured her.

When he's unable to express a preference for one of the five options for the stuffing in the mushroom caps, though, Lorelai snaps back at him, "Are you kidding? It's Sookie. Of course it matters which one. Do I have to pick the whole menu myself? Don't you even care?"

His eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he tries to stammer out a response, but she beats him to it, instantly regretful. "God, Luke, I'm…that was…I'm sorry. I totally suck."

"You don't suck," he says firmly. "I just…are you okay?"

She waves him off. "I'm fine." He lifts an eyebrow skeptically and she sighs. "I don't know. I knew my mom wasn't going to be thrilled about the whole front yard wedding idea. She's probably still got her heart set on that winter Romanov theme."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought we'd be fighting her off and it turns out she doesn't even care." She slumps further down, her shoulders sagging.

"Hey," he says, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "she cares. Your dad too."

She eyes him thoughtfully, her lips pursed. "Maybe you're right. I don't know." She shakes off the thought. "It's okay, let's just finish this up. I can firm things up with Sookie tomorrow. What's next on the list?"

"We don't have to do this right now."

"But we're almost done, right? Let's just go ahead."

"If you want." He gives her a questioning look and when she nods, he goes on to the next thing on the list, the ceremony itself.

"So, I talked to Reverend Skinner today about the ceremony, told him we wanted something simple. No long speeches or anything." He looks at her for approval and when she gives a small nod, he continues. "He also gave me some sample vows so that we could choose. I figured we wouldn't want to write our own because…well…you were at Liz and T.J.'s wedding. I mean, if you really wanted to that would be okay, I guess-"

She smiles wearily. "Luke, it's okay. Traditional is fine."

He nods. "There are a few choices there, but the top one is pretty simple," he says, handing her some sheets of paper. "Love. Honor. No 'obey' or anything." She raises her eyebrows and he gives her a knowing grin.

She smirks back at him before turning her attention to the papers she's holding. He watches her flip through them, and then she looks up briefly. "So, you liked the first one?"

"Well," he points at them in turn, "that one seemed too religious – neither of us is that religious, so it seemed like overkill. That one was similar but longer. And that one," he lets out a sigh. "That one is kinda fruity."

She gives a little giggle, then focuses on the top one again, reading more carefully this time. After a moment, he can see her wince, then sigh sadly.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not-" she starts, looking down into her lap.

"What?" he insists, ducking his head in an attempt to meet her eyes.

She lets out a long breath and finally answers, "It's just kind of a big, flashing neon reminder."

"What is? The vows?" He's thoroughly confused.

"There's no 'forsaking all others' in this one. It just made me…" She shrugs. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it, but if it's not there, it feels like there's a reason it's not-"

"Lorelai," he cuts in.

"And if it is," she goes on, in spite of him, her words slow and sad, "it's like it's there because it needs to be."

His response is immediate, his words coming out while his hands seek out hers. "I wasn't- That's not-"

"I _know_, Luke," she says, squeezing his fingers in emphasis. "And it's not-" She huffs out a frustrated breath. "I know you're not trying to make a point. I know it doesn't mean anything, but it's just there, and it makes me remember…reminds me how badly I screwed up.**"**

His heart breaks a little at the helplessness in her expression. "Lorelai," he says softly.

"It's okay, Luke. It happened. It just makes me sad is all."

"No, I mean, it wasn't even about that."

She tilts her head up to look at him curiously. "About what?"

"It wasn't…about…it wasn't about," he takes a breath, then forcibly pushes out the words, "it wasn't about being unfaithful."

She pauses thoughtfully for a long moment, then finally says softly, "We _were_ engaged."

"I don't need to relive it, but it still wasn't about that," he insists.

She doesn't argue – they've been past that for a while now – but her smile is sad. Freeing one hand from hers, he uses it to pull her against his chest. Running his hand through her hair, he repeats, "It wasn't about that." Turning her palm up he stares down at it as his thumb glides along the lines of her hand, and he vaguely remembers that they're supposed to have specific meanings. "It was about you not believing in us, not believing that you deserved it. And I'm the one who did that to you. I did ninety percent of the breaking of us and you keep trying to take all of the responsibility."

"Oh, I think it's more like 70-30 on me," she says brightly, only half teasing.

"Hey," he says, pulling back enough to be able to look her in the eyes. "We're getting _married_ on Saturday. I don't want to talk about what happened months ago."

She smiles, running the fingers of her free hand over his chest. "Neither do I." Dropping her head back against his shoulder, she's quiet for a few minutes as he runs a reassuring hand up and down her spine. When she does speak he can feel her words as soft breaths against his neck. "It's humbling, you know, that you've seen me at my worst and you still want to be with me." His arms tighten around her involuntarily and he opens his mouth to protest, to say something, but her next words are already vibrating against his skin. "I mean, not to get all Jack Nicholson in _As Good As It Gets_ on you, but you," she lifts her hand to point at his chest, "you make me believe in me, make me think that I can be better."

He's clueless about her movie reference, but the words chase away every last shred of sadness and fill him with warmth and when he answers, his voice is gruff with emotion, "Goes both ways."

* * *

"Luke," Lorelai calls, the word drawn out in a plea that needles him in the kitchen while she's still making her way down the hallway from the living room.

He waits to respond until she's turned the corner, planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head in playful accusation. "What?" he asks gruffly, barely glancing up from the small platter of vegetables he's arranging.

"It's about to start. You promised you wouldn't play hermit in the kitchen."

"I'm just working on your end of the bargain." He places the last pieces of cucumber on the plate and waves it toward her.

"Oh, come on. You weren't serious about that?"

"As a heart attack," he says, then smirks. "It's a fair trade."

Her lower lip pokes out in an exaggerated pout. "Didn't you promise the other night that I could have whatever I wanted?"

"You do know that was in regards to the wedding, right?"

"Oh? I didn't realize that was a limited offer."

When he doesn't relent she tries another tack. "Tonight is kind of like my bachelorette party, so it's wedding related…" She gives him a hopeful smile.

"Nice try, but why would I be at your bachelorette party?"

"You're the male entertainment. Oh," she laughs playfully, pointing a finger at his chest, "I've always wanted to see if you could pull off a dirty fireman bit." He groans and she grimaces suddenly, realizing. "Which would be wildly inappropriate with our daughters here. We'll have to save that for another time."

"Or we can just forget you even mentioned it and instead go in the other room and eat these vegetables I just spent the last half hour cutting up," he reasons, in a desperate effort to distract her from thoughts of male entertainment.

It seems to have worked, though. Lorelai's lips curl in distaste as she scans the platter, then looks up at him with one of her charming 'I know ways to make you reconsider' smiles. They're still in a stalemate, staring at each other when Rory sing-songs from the living room, "It's starting."

"Come on, Luke," she pleads again, reaching for his arm to tug him into the other room.

He stands firm, his feet planted to the ground as he holds the vegetables in front of him. "One piece of vegetable for every five minutes."

"But the finale is an hour long," she whines, trying out the patented pout this time. "That's an entire garden worth of veggies."

He shrugs smugly.

"Fine," she says with a huff.

He hands her a carrot. "Paid in advance."

She narrows her eyes, then takes it grumpily as she reaches around and shoves him toward the living room. "Spoilsport."

"Someone has to look out for your arteries."

In reality, his contribution pales in comparison to the orgy of food they've amassed. He swears he can see the coffee table buckling, laden as it is with the unnatural plastic colors of manufactured sugar and nutritionally void starches in every shape and texture.

He heaves a weighty sigh as he pushes aside a waffle sundae tower and a container of beef lo mein to make room for his plate. He watches the girls lift eyebrows across the table at each other before giving him a sympathetic sideways glance and helping themselves to a single vegetable apiece.

It is truly ridiculous, this show they're watching in rapt attention, but as Lorelai snuggles up next to him, a slice of cucumber in one hand and a Twizzler in the other, he thinks maybe he can endure it for her. When he wraps his arm around her shoulder, she smiles up at him briefly, glances over at their daughters, then turns back, leaning in to whisper, "Thank you." He just pulls her tight in response.

It turns out to be the only respite they get, given the way the weekend is approaching, and the way that Emily has decided to insert herself into the planning process after all. In spite of her initial criticism when they'd made their announcement, she'd called the next day insisting that they use her florist. Lorelai had been smug about having predicted her mother so well – and, though she didn't admit it, pleased - until Emily had pressed her about what rental service they were using for the china and linens. Somewhere in the midst of Lorelai's retelling of the details of the back-and-forth with her mother it occurs to Luke that Emily's original reaction to their news may not have been actual disapproval of the wedding, but, more likely, a desire to have been consulted, involved in the planning of the event.

By Thursday night, both Luke and Lorelai collapse into bed, exhausted in their attempts to finalize details and reign in Lorelai's mother. On Friday, they only have time to catch up with each other briefly during the day before Luke has to go pick up April, and even the quiet dinner they'd planned is interrupted by the surprise arrival of Jess and the subsequent negotiations about where he can stay that will keep him as far away from T.J. as possible.

As pleased as he is that Jess has made the trip, he's disappointed that his last moment with Lorelai before their wedding is rushed and frantic with continued last-minute preparations. Frustrated and tired, he snaps back a response after one of Lorelai's overly cheerful requests for coffee as she's about to leave. Her lips draw together in a concerned frown and he's instantly regretful, coming around the counter to pull her close and whisper apologies.

"It's okay, Luke. Just look at it this way: Even if my mother does turn this into some kind of overdone garden party, or Sookie decides the cake is a disaster and throws it away before she has time to make another, twenty four hours from now we will be married and alone in your cabin." She grins at him wickedly. "And I've been working on plans for that myself."

It's immediate, the way that her words calm him, help him put it all into perspective, so that when he tenderly kisses her goodbye it's with nothing but anticipation.

* * *

The next morning, Luke is preparing a quick breakfast in his apartment while April complains about being the ugliest wedding attendee ever and Jess remains sacked out on the air mattress they'd pulled out last night. On the verge of a mini-meltdown, April paces the floor, causing Jess to lift his head only long enough for a look of skepticism and horror to cross his face before he buries himself in his pillow again. In the midst of April's complaint about 'bad hair,' Luke's phone rings. Telling his daughter one more time that she's beautiful, he flips open his phone and says with a heavy sigh, "Hello."

"But," April whines, "of course _you're_ going to say that."

"Everything okay there?" he hears Lorelai laugh into his ear.

"Yeah, it's fine. April is just convinced that she looks 'hopelessly dorky,' I think she said, which she doesn't," he adds, flashing his daughter a determined glare. April responds by turning and walking back toward the bathroom, likely for another half-hour of primping.

"Well, being thirteen can do that to a girl. And you are her father…"

"Which means that my opinion is less than worthless."

"Well, pretty much," Lorelai says sympathetically. "If it helps, Rory was the same way when she was thirteen."

"Ah," he says, a little helplessly. "So how are things at your end? Your mother hasn't driven you crazy yet?"

"I wouldn't say that, but I think I've managed to occupy her for a few minutes with making Rory beautiful so that I could sneak off for a breather."

"So, you're hiding on the front porch swing?"

"How did you know?"

"Eh," he says, shrugging, "just a hunch."

"Well, good guess," Lorelai says with a smile in her voice, and he can picture her with one leg tucked under her body and the other foot gently tapping periodically against the porch floorboards.

"So things are going okay over there?"

"As well as can be expected. My mom showed up at the crack of dawn with a hairdresser, going on about how ridiculous it was to still be in my pajamas at 7:00 a.m. if I honestly thought I was getting married before noon."

Luke glances over at the lump on Jess's air mattress and wonders briefly what kind of 'getting ready' regimen Emily has in mind that would require more than a four hour time period. "She brought her own hairdresser?" he asks. "Did you know she was bringing a hairdresser?"

"Well, no, not officially, but it's my mother, so yeah, I guess I kinda did."

He chuckles, but before he can say anything else he hears Emily's voice, clear as day through the phone. "Lorelai, there you are. What are you doing sitting here, when you're not even dressed?"

"Oh my god!" he hears her reply in mock astonishment. "You mean I've been sitting out here naked this whole time? Maybe that pain in my butt actually _is_ a splinter."

"Lorelai," Emily snaps, "you know perfectly well what I mean."

Lorelai sighs into the phone, "I guess I'm being summon- " She breaks off mid-sentence. "Uh, Mom?"

"Yes, Lorelai?" Emily says and, even secondhand, Luke can hear the impatience in her tone.

"Who are those people unloading those…big black cases out of their van?"

Emily responds as if it's completely obvious. "Those are the musicians."

"Musicians?"

"Yes, a wonderful string quartet. They come highly recommended, and they're only available because Florence Madison caught Charles with his secretary and called off their 25th anniversary party."

"But, we-"

"I'm sure you had some great plan to stick a tape in a boom box or something…" Luke can practically see the knowing glare Emily gives her daughter.

"Well, Lane put together a whole selection of music that she was going to play on a stereo she set up for us."

"Recorded music?"

Lorelai just sighs, and says brightly, "So Luke, how do you feel about a string quartet?"

"It's not as though we have a choice, right?" he asks, even as he hears Emily in the background asking where she should have the musicians set up.

"Well no, not unless Florence and Charles suddenly reconcile, and even then I think we'd be up for a fight," she says wryly.

"Lorelai!" Emily's voice is more impatient this time. "If you don't get dressed soon, you'll be getting married in those popcorn pajamas."

To her mother she calls, "Just a second, Mom, then I promise your hairdresser can have her way with me." Luke hears Emily huff off and when Lorelai speaks again, he can tell he's got her all to himself. "Well, you heard her," she says wearily, "I should probably go before she gives up on me and turns Rory into a geisha or something. Besides," she adds conspiratorially, "I have to make myself all pretty for you."

"If I tell you that you're always beautiful, will you believe me?"

"Well," she teases, "I'd probably just assume you were saying it because you _have_ to think that."

He shakes his head. "Well, I for one would marry you no matter what you were wearing, but maybe you should go get ready."

"Okay. Oh, and Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Lane's working in the diner this morning, right?"

"Yeah," he says curiously, having no idea what Lorelai is getting at, "but she's going home soon to get ready for the wedding."

"Well, I guess you should let her know about the whole string quartet thing, but you should also have her stop upstairs before she leaves."

"Why?"

"April will listen to her." Before he can even sigh, she says, "Just trust me, it's a girl thing."

* * *

After securing a promise from Jess not to be late, Luke arrives at Lorelai's house with April to find evidence of Emily's involvement in the planning everywhere. The chuppah is covered in flowers, the one long table (Lorelai had insisted that they all sit at the same table, over her mother's protestations that it was impossible to have proper conversations at a table that big) is dressed to the nines in the finest linen and glassware, and two uniformed waiters are folding the napkins into elegant fans.

April eagerly asks if it's okay to go inside to see Lorelai and he nods, shooing her away when she hesitates to leave him alone. Once she's gone, Luke wanders slowly around the outside of the house, tugging on his suit, his hands more than a little sweaty. It's not long, though, before Reverend Skinner, Jess, Lane and Zach, and then Liz and T.J. arrive to the understated melodies of the string quartet. Soon after, Rory, Emily and April exit the house and head over to the small group scattered in front of the chuppah, as the music transitions to a more traditional wedding processional.

Luke can hear Emily not-so-subtly whisper to Rory, "Are we expected to simply stand here in the grass?"

"It's a short ceremony, Grandma."

"But how hard is it to rent a few extra chairs?"

"Grandma," Rory says, shushing her as she points to where Richard is holding the front door open for Lorelai, "here comes Mom."

He's spent more time imagining this moment than he'd like to admit. It used to be glimpses sometimes, since before they were even a couple. Then they'd gotten engaged and he allowed himself longer looks, indulging himself in the crazy reality that they were actually together, and happy, and going to be married.

After seeing Lorelai in her dress last year, the images had become more specific, more detailed, but this week he's found himself wondering things that guys aren't supposed to admit they care about. Will she straighten her hair or wear it naturally curly? Will it be pulled back in some fancy hairstyle or allowed to fall free around her face? Will she wear a piece of jewelry he's given her, or will her mother talk her into borrowing something extravagant? Will he even be able to notice the alterations Lorelai claims to have made (to symbolize their 'new and improved' relationship) to the dress she'd picked out almost a year ago? What will her expression be as she walks toward him?

As she walks easily with her father to the group gathered near the chuppah, it's the details that hit him first: the way the dress hides whatever footwear she's chosen as it rustles against the grass, the light, lacy veil that trails halfway down her back, the way her loose curls dance around her face, the confident way she holds her father's arm in one hand, and the bouquet in the other hand that trails vine-like strands of tiny yellow flowers. And the dress is different – it's somehow sleeker and simpler, not as frilly and poufy as he remembers. And that seems to fit with the way she's been so content, almost calm, lately.

But when they reach the point where Emily is standing, and Richard gives Lorelai a quick peck on the cheek before she drops his arm, Luke catches her eyes, and they're dancing, bouncing with enthusiasm.

And she's got the biggest, sappiest grin on her face.

And, he realizes a few moments later, so does he.

In that moment he can't really see anything else, can focus only on the curve of her lips, the lift in her cheekbones and the bright blue of her eyes. When she approaches, he reaches a hand to her, and she grasps it tightly, squeezing his fingers together as they turn toward Reverend Skinner.

They've agreed on the barest of ceremonies, just the vows and the exchange of rings, so there's very little introduction. Once Reverend Skinner has said his few brief words about marriage and asked for the support of the family, he asks Luke and Lorelai to face each other and clasp hands.

She looks up at him, radiant, smiling, and he feels flushed all over, constrained by the suit and feverish with nerves. And not because he doesn't want this, but because he's about to say some of the most important words of his life, and after the sadness over the vows discussion, he desperately doesn't want to screw them up.

They'd finally agreed on the first set of vows, the simplest, after Luke threatened to put the two they were deciding between behind his back and make Lorelai choose randomly. The whole incident had made Luke uneasy though, and he'd thought all week about how to change that.

So, when Reverend Skinner nods at him as if checking that he's ready, the nerves hit all over again. He carefully repeats the words they'd agreed upon, then, taking a deep breath, he says the words he'd decided to add after talking to the minister the previous day, "I will do everything in my power to genuinely share my life with you…always."

Lorelai's eyes widen when she notices the change, her smile growing tremulous as her eyes become shiny with tears. Reverend Skinner gives her a moment to compose herself before starting her vows, which she recites confidently. When she finishes, she gestures for him to wait before going on with the ceremony, then turns back to Luke. Holding his gaze solemnly and his hands tightly, she says, "I promise to have faith in us…always."

His first impulse is to pull her into his arms and kiss her, tradition be damned. Instead they share a look of understanding, one that recognizes the commitment they're both making to be better people.

Reverend Skinner startles them both by whispering to Luke about the rings, and it's then that it hits Luke again that there's an audience, which brings back his earlier nervousness. Taking the rings from his pocket sheepishly, he notices his hand shaking as he puts the ring on Lorelai's finger while saying the appropriate words, and he's not surprised to see Lorelai's hands shaking or voice trembling when it's her turn to speak.

As the last words leave her mouth, a single tear slips out of the corner of her eye as if in anticipation of the final words of the ceremony. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may-"

Before he can finish, Luke lifts one hand to her cheek and wraps the other around her waist, pulling her toward him for their first married kiss, barely hearing Reverend Skinner say with a chuckle, "Go right ahead."

It's warm and tender, this kiss, and he wants to lose himself in it, but he remembers their audience, so he drops his hand to her waist, breaking the kiss, but still holding her loosely. She's more reluctant though, her arms snug around his neck, holding her forehead to his. "We're really married," she whispers in awe, before burying her face in his shoulder and hugging him tightly.

He nods, and whispers back, "Yeah, we are." Smiling to himself, he opens his eyes to their new reality, looking out over her shoulder, and then asking in surprise, "Lorelai?"

"Hmm?" she asks, her voice humming against his skin.

"Why is Kirk here?"

"What?" she murmurs softly, seemingly unfazed.

"Kirk," he says dumbly. "At our wedding. Did you invite him? Or the rest of them?"

At this she finally lifts her head from his shoulder and twists around, her eyes widening when she takes in the crowd of people who have gathered behind the small group of invited guests. As though they've been waiting until their presence was known, they erupt into applause, with a few catcalls thrown in for good measure.

Lorelai looks at Luke, her hand over her mouth in bewilderment. "_I_ didn't invite them," she sputters. "What did- How did-"

She's cut off by a tackle hug from her daughter and he can tell that the wedding guest mystery is forgotten, at least for the moment. He watches, chuckling, as Lorelai and Rory squeal happily, then he reaches for April, who has approached them somewhat less rambunctiously than Rory. Looping his arm around April's back, he sweeps her toward him with a smile.

She grins back as she wraps her arms around his neck. "Congratulations, Dad."

"Thank you," he says softly into her hair. "I'm _so_ glad you're here. He tries to express, wonders if she realizes, that he doesn't just mean here in the yard at the wedding, but in his life and as a part of this new family they're creating.

"Me too," she whispers, her arms tightening briefly as if in emphasis, and it makes him think that maybe she does understand everything he's trying to say.

Luke holds on for another moment before letting her go. April's still grinning when Lorelai tugs her over for a hug. They've only just begun their own round of congratulations when Rory throws herself into his arms with unusual abandon, all the more notable for the fact that the hugs they typically share have a tendency toward awkward. "I'm _so_ happy for you two," she exclaims. Pulling back, she looks at him, her head cocked to the side and her eyes lit with awe. "I mean, Luke, do you have any clue how good you are for her?"

He blushes down to his toes, shrugging and staring at the grass in front of his feet. "Aw, Rory you went and made him all bashful," Lorelai teases, reaching to squeeze his hand, with the arm that's not still looped around April's shoulders. Stage-whispering to the girls, she adds, "I'm going to make sure he knows."

Luke hazards a glance up only to catch Rory's raised eyebrow. "Well, good, because I meant it."

He's finally able to mutter, "Thank you, and…your mom…I mean," he sighs with the effort of getting the words out right. "She's good for me too."

April and Rory grins at that, and Rory adds. "I know, and somehow it's only a little bit nauseating."

She seems to sense that they passed embarrassing a few compliments ago are headed straight for Sapsville, so she changes the subject. "So Mom, some party, huh?"

"So, did _you_ do this?" Lorelai asks, narrowing accusatory eyes at her daughter.

Rory shakes her head, but doesn't bother to wipe the amused smile off her face. "Nope."

Lorelai shifts to look at April, who raises her hands in denial. "Don't look at me."

Lorelai's eyebrow is arched in a question as all three girls then train their gazes on Luke. He chokes out a laugh. "Seriously? You think that _I_ invited Taylor and Kirk to my own wedding?"

"So they just showed up?" she asks. He might think that she's annoyed, but for the jumble of wonder, gratitude and, amusement in her expression.

"Well, look who you're talking about," he says dryly. "You think they're really going to ask permission?"

Lorelai just shrugs and grins up at him. "No, of course not. I just can't believe Kirk was here the whole time and nothing fell out of a tree and hit us on the head or something. My mom is probably having a conniption trying to figure out how to feed all of these people and going on about how uncouth it is to show up uninvited. Maybe I should go," she gestures toward her mother, and Luke sees her expression shift from amusement to horror, "rescue her from T.J."

Luke follows Lorelai toward her parents just in time to hear T.J. say, "…shoulda known someone as hot as Lorelai would have such a fine looking mother."

Emily looks appalled and Richard grimaces. Before Luke can jump in to apologize, Lorelai says brightly, "Ah, Mom and Dad, I see you've met Liz and T.J.. Liz is Luke's sister, and T.J. is her husband." Emily just nods knowingly, glancing briefly at Luke. "And, of course, you remember Jess, Liz's son."

"Oh, you know Jess?" Liz crows, ruffling Jess' hair, much to his chagrin, Luke notes with amusement. "I'm so proud of him. He's done so well for himself."

Emily's manages to find her voice. "Yes, he and Rory were…friends when they were in high school. I even once had the pleasure of Jess's company at dinner." She manages to make it sound both insignificant and long past, all the while smiling, if not graciously, at least courteously. Luke can't help but notice unreadable looks passing between Rory and Jess during the whole exchange.

Oblivious to the group dynamics, T.J. nods toward Lorelai's parents. "It's great to meet you, and now that these two are hitched, if you ever need any carpentry projects done around your house, I can give you a family discount."

"Well," Richard says, "that's a generous offer. We'll keep it in mind." Luke marvels that he's able to keep a straight face.

"I'm starting to line up several projects, so don't wait too long," T.J. warns, then glancing around, he adds, "In fact, I'm glad Kirk's here. I need to talk to him about the cabinet he wants me to build for his mother's _Precious Moments_ figurines. We can talk more about your projects when we sit down to eat."

"I'm sure they're looking forward to it," Lorelai says slyly as first T.J., then Liz excuse themselves to find Kirk.

As soon as they're out of earshot, Emily says, "Honestly Lorelai, please tell me that you are not related to that man."

"Mom, not only am I related to him, you are too," Lorelai says with a grin, "which, as he says, qualifies you for the family discount."

"Lorelai," her mother admonishes. "If you honestly think-" She stops herself, shaking her head. "And what are all these people doing here? Did you invite them? You insisted on that ridiculously tiny guest list, and now, how are we going to feed them all?"

"Actually, Mom, I had no idea they were coming, but if you excuse me for a moment, I will track down the likely instigators and have them reported to the etiquette police." Before her mother can respond, Lorelai drags Luke with her to where Babette and Miss Patty stand ogling them.

As they walk toward the pair, Patty croons, "Oh, my dear, you look beautiful. And, Luke," she adds suggestively, "you should definitely wear a suit more often."

He blushes at her tone, but Lorelai speaks up. "Thank you. It's so nice of you to _join_ us," she says a little pointedly.

"Well, doll, you didn't really expect us to miss this, didja?" Babette asks. "Just 'cause you're getting hitched all quick and on the sly don't mean that we're gonna miss it. But you don't have to worry about your fancy party. We brought our own chow." She turns abruptly and screeches, "Morey! It's time to set up the tables."

Morey simply nods, calling out to Kirk and gesturing around to the back of the house. Luke and Lorelai just watch for a moment in astonishment as tables begin appearing, are unfolded and then, just as quickly, covered with platters and dishes of all types.

Luke watches Lorelai glance between the hastily arranged buffet, the two baffled waiters, the exquisitely decorated table, and the string quartet struggling to make their concerto heard over the crowd, and he worries briefly about her reaction. That though she'd downplayed the importance of the wedding details all week, this might be the fiasco that every bride fears.

"Hey," he says softly, slipping his arm around her waist. "Are you okay?"

It's then that she turns and he sees the delighted amusement in her expression. "I can't believe they did this."

"Really?" he asks. "Somehow this surprises me less than I think it should."

Lorelai just laughs and drops her head to his shoulder. It's only a moment though, before he hears Emily's voice behind them, "Lorelai!"

Turning, Lorelai sighs. "Yes, Mom?"

Emily points across the yard. "Do you see what's going on here? These people are _ruining_ your wedding!"

"They're _celebrating_ our wedding," Lorelai answers patiently, her face still lit with a glowing smile.

"There are card tables and potato salad." Emily says this as though they're pulling out kegs of beer and selling hot dogs, though Luke has to admit, that's not out of the realm of possibility with this crowd.

"Yeah, but it looks like Andrew brought his famous scallops wrapped in bacon."

"That man is directing people with a megaphone."

"That's Kirk, Mom. You've met him before. We think he's considering getting the megaphone surgically implanted."

"The string quartet can barely be heard," Emily adds, her last feeble protest coming out as a long sigh.

"Well, maybe they'll have to take it from mezzo piano to fortissimo," Lorelai points out practically, still unable to completely reign in her smile.

Her mother finally huffs with frustration. "Do you even see what is going on here?"

Lorelai leans back into Luke, wrapping his arms around her waist as her voice turns quietly serious. "Luke and I just got _married_, Mom. And all these people came to celebrate with us."

Emily's expression softens for a moment before she looks over to see the waiters handing out the passed hors d'oeuvres freely and liberally. "They'll never last if they give them to everyone. What are they thinking?" she snaps before rushing off to chastise the waiter.

Lorelai just shakes her head again, then spotting Rory heading toward them across the lawn, tugs at Luke for him to follow her. It should annoy him perhaps, the way that she's dragging him around, but she hasn't let go of him, not really, since they were standing under the chuppah making promises to one another, so he's not complaining.

Rory glances between Emily and Lorelai, eyebrows raised. "Grandma must be _thrilled_ at the way this is turning out."

"Well…" Lorelai says, unable to restrain her grin.

"You just _love_ that it's torturing her, don't you?"

When Lorelai doesn't answer, Luke gives her a playful nudge and tells Rory dryly, "Your mother is certainly getting her share of enjoyment out of the whole situation."

"She wouldn't be my mother if she didn't, I guess."

"Stop that," Lorelai protests. "I'm just having fun at our party." Rory and Luke just nod knowingly as Lorelai points to their table, clearly as a means of distraction, "Hey look, I think we're being summoned for dinner. Now should I seat T.J. across from my mother?" She gives them both a sly grin.

As much fun as she may or may not be having, she does deftly steer her mother and father toward the end of the table with Sookie and Jackson and push Liz and T.J. to seats at the other end, across from Lane and Zach, with the rest of them as a buffer in between.

They eat their fill of Sookie's inspired menu, and a few favorites Lorelai asks the waiters to sneak onto her plate from the alternate buffet. It's not long before the waiters wheel out the most enormous wedding cake Luke has ever seen. Lorelai's eyes are wide and gleeful and Sookie is beaming.

"Sook," Lorelai says, her voice awed, "Did you know about this whole town thing?"

"No. Why?"

"That cake is ginormous."

"It's a wedding cake."

"That is the Sears Tower of wedding cakes. Sookie, I told you we needed a cake for fourteen people."

"Well, it looks like you were wrong," Sookie says with a shrug.

"And somehow you had a premonition that everyone from Bootsie to Babette's gnomes were going to be here?"

"No, but did you seriously think that I was going to make you a wedding cake smaller than the cake I made for Martha's first birthday? Besides, now there's enough for everyone." She gives Lorelai a nervous glance. "Do you like it? I hope you like it. You never told me which was your favorite kind, so I had to make a few different ones." Sookie's enthusiasm bubbles over as she launches into her 'sales pitch.' "I knew there had to be coffee in there somewhere so the bottom one is mocha layers with caramel and crushed espresso beans, the second tier is the summertime cake with lemon curd and raspberries, the third is that s'mores cake - chocolate layers with marshmallow crème, crushed graham crackers and chocolate chips-"

"Sookie," Lorelai cuts in, "it sounds fantastic and looks gorgeous."

"But you didn't even hear the rest. The last one I made just for Luke," she announces, beaming at him. "Carrot cake for the health nut."

It's just like Sookie to think that adding a few carrots into a sugar and fat-filled dessert makes it 'healthy,' but he nods his acknowledgement as Lorelai gives her friend a warm smile. "Sookie, it's beautiful, and you know that I'm going to _have_ to try all four and that they're all going to be amazing. Thank you so much for this, the food, the cake."

"Well, it's about time you had a wedding for me to cook for."

* * *

* * *

By the time they've finished with their meal and wine and cake and champagne, Lorelai is happily tipsy, more than willing to lean into Luke and drop her head sleepily onto his shoulder. "When do you think you might want to head out?" he whispers into her ear.

"To the cabin," she asks, "so that we can be together and alone? How about soon?"

"Soon sounds good," he agrees.

They make a round of goodbyes before heading toward the house to change, Luke spending an extra few minutes with April while Lorelai says goodbye to Rory and thanks her mother for the help with the wedding.

As they reach the steps, Zach lopes over to them, calling Lorelai's name.

"Yeah," she asks, curious.

"Well, I was wondering…" He stops for a moment, then explains, "I was talking to the band."

"The band?"

He gestures toward the musicians.

"Oh, you mean the string quartet?"

"Yeah, well, Lane and I were talking to them during their break and it turns out that a couple of them are in a band. The dude with the viola plays keyboard and the cello player is a singer." Zach is using his hands for emphasis, the way that he does when he's excited about something, and all Luke can do is share a puzzled look with Lorelai.

"So," Lorelai asks patiently, "what's your question?"

"Well, we were kinda wondering, and it's totally cool if you're not hip to it, but we were kinda thinking that maybe we could jam with them during their next set. But, only if you don't mind, 'cause it's like your day and all." He stops talking and he's got sort of a hopeful puppy dog look.

Lorelai lifts her eyebrow questionably at Luke and he gives a half-hearted shrug. "Sure Zach, have a good time."

His eyes light up. "Thank you. I've got to go home to get my guitar and Lane's drums, but this is going to be _awesome_."

Luke can see the little smile playing at the corners of Lorelai's lips as Zach goes off to find Lane. "You're just imagining the look on your mother's face when they start playing, aren't you?"

"No!" she insists, but when he levels his gaze on her, she admits with a tiny grin, "Well, maybe a little."

"No wonder you get along with your parents so well," he comments wryly.

"Oh, hush you. Now help me find Rory so that she can get me out of this dress."

"I can help you out of that dress," he whispers suggestively.

"Yes, I'm quite sure you can, but if you do…well, my parents are down here, so…"

"So, I'm helping you find Rory."

"You catch on quick."

* * *

Luke changes quickly, then walks out onto the porch to wait for Lorelai. Leaning for a moment against a post he glances around the yard. Across the lawn, Zach has returned and is unloading the instruments. He sets them up as he talks animatedly with the musicians, probably planning out what they're going to play. In the other direction, in Babette's yard, they've pulled out lawn darts and the croquet set. And right in between, Richard and Emily sit near the flower-covered chuppah, sipping coffee from the finest china and talking banquet menus with Sookie. 

He's about to sit down on the top porch step when from behind him he hears, "Only in this town would a little front yard wedding turn into this kind of freak show."

Luke turns to see Jess leaning back against the house, the trademark smirk on his face. "Yeah, well…" Luke shrugs, unable to argue the point.

"Guess it's just their way of saying 'it's about time,'" Jess says, lifting a brow knowingly.

"They have too much time on their hands," he grumbles.

"Well, they're right."

Luke narrows his eyes at his nephew, who just cocks his head to the side and says, "I just call 'em as I see 'em."

Folding his arms across his chest, Luke stares at Jess for a long moment then lets out a long sigh. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"Well, couldn't miss seeing you and Lorelai crowned King and Queen of Stars Hollow," Jess says with a sarcastic smirk, clearly avoiding the serious note in Luke's voice.

Keeping his gaze trained on Jess, Luke reiterates, "I appreciate it."

Jess dips his head in acknowledgement and pauses before speaking again. "She's a lucky woman."

"We're both lucky," Luke insists quietly.

"Well…" Giving a slight shrug, Jess says, "I'm just glad you worked everything out." He pauses again. "So you're headed out soon?"

"Yeah." Luke nods. "I'd like to get to the cabin before it gets too late."

"Well then." Jess holds out his hand, but Luke pulls him into a brief hug. When he steps back, Jess adds, "I'll make sure April gets home."

"Good. Thank you. And thanks again for coming."

"Wouldn't have missed it." Jess starts down the stairs, turning back only long enough to add, "Congratulations, Luke."

Luke gives a little wave, then settles down on the top step. A few minutes later he watches Taylor wielding a croquet mallet as he negotiates for space with a group armed with darts. He's chuckling to himself at the image as Lorelai takes a seat next to him. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You were laughing."

"Oh." He waves it off. "It's nothing. Are you sure you want to go?" He points his thumb toward Babette's yard. "They've pulled out all the yard games."

"Well, as much as I love a good round of lawn darts, my _husband_ and I have other plans."

"Yeah?" he teases. "Lucky guy."

"Damn straight."

As they stand, he can see her taking it all in, the whole scene. "Not quite the garden party my mom was going for."

"No, not quite," he agrees. "But good?"

She turns to give him a soft kiss. "It was perfect."

He loops his arm across her shoulders as the first strains of electric guitar drift across the lawn, backed up by the acoustic bass. Zach gives them a thumbs-up and a grin. When the drums kick in Lorelai laughs with delight. "Definitely, the best wedding ever."

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

In my original outline this story had an epilogue. When it came time for the L/L Ficathon last summer, though, the scene I had envisioned as the final scene seemed to fit my prompt and so I wrote is as a one-shot. I have always intended to mention it at the end of this chapter (though I didn't think at the time that it would be almost a whole year before I finished this story!), so if you're interested check out _Epilogue_. At this point I don't think that the tone of _Epilogue_ quite matches the ending of this story, (You were right **KinoFille**, and my little tweaks did not do justice to your feedback) but I think that the sentiment is still appropriate, if perhaps a little redundant.


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